UC-NRLF 


035 


Morris  B.    Parker 


INTRDUCTION 


THE  ENGLISH  READER: 

OR,  "  jp 

)  POETRY; 

TO    1  Ml' ROVE 

READING : 

M'lTH  RULES  AMD  01  YS 

/V77.\Y;    CliU.Di  .1'ITL 

PROP* 


'•'dition,  im/iiwfil  by  the  author . 


SH    GRAMMAR,     ADAPTED    TO    THS 
DIFFERENT    CLASSES    OF    LEARNERS,"  Scc» 


NEW- YORK : 

SOLD    BV    COLLINS    AND    PilRK 
NO.    189,    PEARL-STREET. 
1809. 


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RULE:7)  AND  OBSERVATIONS 

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~-. 

~HE  compiler  of  this  work  having,   in  the  prc- 

JL  face  to  his  "  Englifh  Reader/'  explained  at 
large  the  principles  of  elocution,  nothing  on  this 
head  feems  to  be  ncceflary  in  the  nreient  publica- 
tion, but  to  give  a  few  plain  and  iimpie  rules, 
adapted  to  the  younger  clafies  of  learners  ;  and  to 
make  fome  obiervati-  ulated  to  rectify  the 

errors  which  they  are  mo  ft  apt  to  commit.    Thefe 
rules   may   be  comprehended    under  the  following 
is.      Thv  mprifed  in  few   words,   and  a 

little  ieparated  from    the  obfervations,   that   thofe 
teachers  who  wifh  their  pupils  to  commit  them  to 
memory,   may  more  readily  diftitiguifh  them  from 
'arts  which  require  only  an  attentive  peruial. 

1^ 

ip.ds  fliould  be  pronounced 
:  e  fs  ,  a  n  d  e  n  c  r  g  y  ;    particularly 

the  vowels,  on  the  proper  utterance  of  which,  the 
force  and  beauty  of  pronunciation  greatly  depend. 

The  fimple  founds,  efpecially  thofe  fignified  by 

the  letters  /,  r,  j,  /£,  and  j/j9  are  often  very  imper- 

fedtly  pronounced  by  youn;*  perfons.      B  and  p  are 

to  be  confounded  :  fo  are  d  and  /,  s  and  2,  j^ 

a  2 


vi  ES,   &C. 

and  v.  The  letters  v  and  w  are  often  founded  the 
one  for  the  other:  thus,  wine  is  pronounced  vine; 
and  vinegar,  winegar,  The  diphthong  ow  is,  in 
iome  words,  vulgarly  founded  like  er  :  as  folier, 
meller,  winder  ;  inftead  of  follow,  mellow,  window. 
When  feveral  confonants,  proper  to  be  founded, 
occur  in  the  beginning  or  at  the  end  of  words',  it  is 
a  very  common  error  to  omit  one  of  them  in  pro- 
nunciation :  as  in  the  words  afps,  calks,  guefts, 
breadth,  fiftji,  twelfth,  ftrength,  hearths.  Not 
founding  the  letter  /;>,  when  it  is  proper  to  found 
this  letter,  is  a  great  fault  in  pronunciation,  and 
very  difficult  wholly  to  correct. 

When  children  have  acquired  any  improper  ha- 
bits with  refpect  to  iimple  founds,  the  belt  mode 
of  correction  is,  to  make  them  frequently  repeat 
words  and  fentences,  in  which  thofe  founds  occur. 
When  the  iiinple  founds  are  thoroughly  understood 
and  acquired,  the  various  combinations  of  them 
into  fyllables  and  words  will  be  eafily  effected. 

II.  In  order  to  give  fpirit  and  propriety  to  pro- 
nunciation, due  attention  muft  be  paid  to  accent, 
emphafis,  and  cadence. 

When  we  diftinguifh  a  fyllable  by  a  great  /  ftreis 
of  the  voice,  it  is  called  accent.  When  we  thus 
diftinguifli  any  word  in  a  fentence,  it  is  called 
emphafis.  It  is  difficult  to  give  precife  rules  for 
placing  the  accent  :  but  the  beft  general  direction, 
is  to  confult  the  moft  approved  pronouncing  diction- 
aries, and  to  imitate  the  praftice  of  the  moft  cor- 
rect fpeakers/ 


RULES,  &c.  vii 

There  are,  in  every  fentence,  fome  word  or 
words,  on  which  the  fenfe  of  the  reft  depends  ; 
and  thefe  muft  always  be  diftinguifhed  by  a  fuller 
and  ftronger  found  of  voice,  whether  they  are 
found  in  the  beginning,  the  middle,  or  at  the  end 
of  the  fentence.  It  is  highly  improper  to  lay  an 
emphafis  on  words  of  little  importance.  Words 
put  in  oppofition  to  each  other  are  always  emphati- 
cal  :  as,  "  Here  I  am  jni/erable  ;  but  tbyy^  I  (hall 
be  happy.'*  "  Children,''  fays  Beattie/ "  are  not 
often  taught  to  read  with  proper  emphafis.  When 
books  are  put  before  them  which  they  do  not  un- 
der ftand,  it  is  irnpofiible  they  fhould  apply  it  pro- 
perly. Let  them,  therefore,  read  nothing  but 
what  is  level  to  their  capacity.  Let  them  read  de- 
liberately, and  with  attention  to  every  word.  Let 
them  be  fet  right,  not  only  when  they  mifapply  the 
cniphafis  ;  but  alfo  cautioned  againft  the  oppofite 
extremes  of  too  forcible  and  too  feeble  an  applica- 
tion of  it  :  for,  by  the  former  of  thefe  faults, 
Lome  affected  in  their  utterance  ;  and  by 
the  latter,  infipid."  That  children  may  be  enabled 
to  a]  hails,  with  judgment,  they  fliould 

fubject,  and  afrertain  the  mean- 
Icult  word  and  fentence,   previous 
ocmg  called  to  read  to  the  teacher. 

As  emphafis  confifts  in  raifing  the  voice,  cadence 
iignifies  the  falling  of  it.  Towards  the  clofe  of  a 
fentence,  the  cadence  takes  place,  unlefs  the  con- 
cluding words  be  emphatical.  It  fhould  always  be 
eafy  and  gradual,  not  abrupt  ;  and  fliould  never  be 
expreiTed  in  a  feeble  and  languid  manner.  Even  tfre 


viii  R  u  LES,  &c. 

falling  of  the  voice  may  be  managed  with  fpirit  and 
variety. 

III.  As  the  art  of  reading  greatly  depends  oa 
the  proper  management  of  the  breath,  it  fhouid  be 
ufed  with  economy.  The  voice  ought  to  be  re- 
lieved at  every  ftop  ;  {lightly  at  a  comma,  more 
leifurely  at  a  femicolon,  or  a  colon,  and  completely 
at  a  period. 

A  due  attention  to  this  rule,  will  prevent  a 
broken,  faint,  and  languid  voice,  which  is  the 
ufual  fault  of  ignorant  and  vulgar  readers.  It  will 
enable  the  reader  to  preferve  the  command  of  his 
voice  ;  to  pronounce  the  longed  fentence  with  as 
much  eafe  as  the  fhorteft ;  and  to  acquire  that 
freedom  and  energy,  with  which  a  perfon  of  judg- 
ment naturally  expreiTes  his  perceptions,  emotions, 
and  paffions,  in  common  difcourfe. 

The  comma  marks   the   fhorteft  paufe,   the  fe- 
micolon,  a  paufe  double  that  of  the  comma  ;   the 
colon,   double  that  of  the  femicolon  ;   and  the  pe- 
riod, double  that  of  the  colon.      A  cl;.fh  folk 
a  (lop,   fhows  that  the  paufe  is  to  be  g 
the  ftop  were  alone  ;   and  when  ufeH  '       itl      ,   re- 
quires a  paufe  of  fuch  length  as  the  lenie  alone  can 
determine.      A  paragraph  requires  a  paufe  double 
that  which  is  proper  at  a  period. 

The  points  .of  interrogation  and  exclamation,  are 
uncertain  as  to  their  time.  The  paufe  which  they 
demand  is  equal  to  a  femicolon,  a  colony  or  a  period, 


RULES,   &C.  IX 

as  the  fenfe  may  require.  They  fhould  be  at- 
tended with  an  elevation  of  the  voice.  The  paren- 
thefis,  unlefs  accompanied  with  a  flop,  requires  but 
a  fmall  paufe.  It  generally  marks  a  moderate  de- 
preilion  of  the  voice. 

IV.  Let  the  tone  of  the  voice  in  reading  be  the 
fame  as  it  would  be  in  fpeaking  on  the  fame  fubjecl. 

To  render  this  rule  proper  and  effectual,  children 
fhould  be  taught  to  fpeak  flowly,  diftinclly,  and 
with  due  attention  to  the  fentiments  they  exprefs. 
The  mode  of  fpeaking  is  then  only  to  be  imitated 
by  the  reader,  when  it  is  juft  and  natural. 

V.  Endeavour  to  vary  and  modulate  the  voice 
jcording  to  the  nature  of  the  fubjecl:,   whether  it 

in  a  folemn,   a  ferious,   a  familiar,   a  gay,   a  hu- 
urous,   or  an  ironical  drain. 

would  be  highly  improper  to  read  an  intereft- 

nrrative,  with  an  air  of  negligence  ;  to  exprefs 

emotions  of  the   heart,  with  cold  indiffer- 

•nd  to  pronounce  a  paffage  of  Scripture,  on 

aiime  and  important  fubject,   with  the  familiar 

tone    of    common   converfation.        On   the   other 

hand,  it  would  be  abfurd  to  read  a  letter  on   trivial 

fubjects,    in  a  mournful  ft  rain  ;   or  a  production  of 

gaiety  and  humour,   with  grave  formality. 

VI.  In  reading  verfe,  the  fame  general  directions 
;ft  be  obferved,  as   have  been  given  for  reading 

pro' 


" 

Na 


RULES,   &C. 


Narrative,  didaftic,  defcriptive,  and  pathetic 
pieces,  have  the  fame  peculiar  tone  and  manner, 
in  poetry  as  in  profe.  A  finging  note,  and  mak- 
ing the  lines  jingle  by  laying  too  great  ftrefs  on  the 
rhyming  words,  fhould  be  particularly  avoided. 
A  very  fmali  paufe  ought  to  be  made  at  the  end 
of  a  line,  unlefs  the  fenfe,  or  fome  of  the  ufual 
marks  of  paufe,  require  a  conliderable  one.  The 
great  rule  for  reading  verfe,  as  well  as  profe,  is 
to  read  {lowly,  diftinftly,  and  in  a  natural  tone  of 
voice. 


We    fhali   now  caution    young   readers    agair ' 
fome  faults  which   many  are   apt   to  commit, 
doing  this,   it  will  unavoidably  happen,  that  a 
of  the  preceding   obfervations   will,  in   fome 
peels,  be  repeated  ;  but  this   confirmation   c 
rules  will,   it  is  prefumed,  be  no    difadvant 
the  learners.      A  difplay  of  the    various  ei 
reading,   incident  to  children,  may  make  a 
impreffion,  than  directions  which  are  pofif 
point  only  to  the  propriety  of  pronuncia>1 

i.   Avoid  too  loud,   or  too  low  a  voice. 

An  overftrained  voice  is  very  inconvenient  to 
the  reader,  as  well  as  difgufting  to  the  hearer.  It 
exhaufts  the  reader's  fpirits ;  and  prevents  the 
proper  management  and  modulation  of  his  voice, 
according  to  the  fenfe  of  his  fubject ;  and  it  natu- 
rally leads  into  a  tone.  Too  low  a  voice  is  not 


RULES,    &C.  X[ 

fo  inconvenient  to  the  fpeaker,  as  the  other  ex- 
treme ;  but  it  is  very  difagreeable  to  the  hearer. 
It  is  always  offenfive  to  an  audience,  to  obferve 
any  thing  in  the  reader  or  fpeaker,  that  marks  in- 
dolence or  inattention.  When  the  voice  is  natu- 
rally too  loud,  or  too  low,  young  perfons  iliould 
correct  it  in  their  ordinary  converfation  :  by  this 
means  they  will  learn  to  avoid  both  the  extremes, 
in  reading.  They  fhould  begin  the  fentence  with 
an  even  moderate  voice,  which  will  enable  them  to 
rife  or  fall  as  the  fubject  requires. 

2.  Avoid  a  thick,   confufed,   cluttering  voice. 

It  is  very  difagreeable  to  hear  a  perfon  mumble, 
clip,  or  fwallow  his  words  ;  leaving  out  feme  fyi- 
lables  in  the  long  v,  :.d  fcarcely  ever  pro- 

nouncing   fome  of  tli  ones  ;    but    hurrying 

on  without  any  care  to  give  his  words  tbeir  full 
found,  or  his  hearers  the  fu'l  fenfe  of  them.  This 
fault  is  not  eafily  cured.  The  b>  ft  means  of  mend- 
ing it,  is,  to  endeavour,  both  in  converfation  and 
reading,  to  pronounce  every  word  in  a  deliberate, 
clear,  and  dilUndt  manner. 

3.  Be  careful  to  read  neither  too  quick  nor  too 
flow. 

A  precipitant  reader  leaves  no  room  for  pnufes; 
fatigues  himfelf;  and  lowers  the  dignity  of  his 
fubjecl:.  His  hearers  loie  much  of  what  is  deli- 
vered, and  muft  always  be  diiiatisfied  with  a  reader 
who  hurries  and  tires  them.  Children  are  very 


xii  RULES,  &c. 

apt  to  read  too  faft,  and  to  take  pleafure  in  it, 
thinking  that  they  who  pronounce  the  words  with 
the  greateft  rapidity,  are  the  beft  fcholars. — The 
heavy,  dronifh,  ileepy  reader,  and  who  often  makes 
paufes  where  there  fhould  be  none,  is  alfo  very 
difagreeable.  If  he  hems  and  yawns  between  the 
periods,  he  is  ftill  more  fo. 

4.  Study  to  avoid  an  irregular  mode  of  pronun- 
ciation. 

It  is  a  great  fault  in  reading,  to  raife  and  fall  the 
voice  by  fits  and  ftarts ;  to  elevate  and  deprefs  it 
unfeafonably,  without  regard  to  fenfe  or  ftops  •,  or 
always  to  begin  a  fentence  with  a  high  voice,  and 
conclude  it  with  a  low  one,  or,  on  the  contrary, 
to  begin  with  a  low  voice,  and  conclude  with  a 
high  one.  To  avoid  thefe  errors,  the  fentence 
ihould  not  be  begun  in  too  high  or  too  low  a  key ; 
regard  ihould  be  had  to  the  nature  of  the  points, 
and  the  length  of  the  periods :  and  the  reader's 
mind  ihould  be  attentive  to  the  fubjecl,  fenfe,  and 
ipirit,  of  his  author. 

5,  With  the  utmoft  care  avoid  a  flat,  dull,  uni- 
form voice,  without  emphafis  or  cadence,  or  a  pro- 
per regard  to  the  fenfe  of  what  is  reading. 

This  is  a  practice  to  which  children  who  do  not 
love  learning,  and  who  are  tired  with  their  lefTons, 
are  very  prone.  When  this  mode  of  reading  be- 
comes habitual,  it  is  painful  to  the  hearer,  and  very 
difficult  to  be  remedied.  The  beft  means  of  cure 


RULES,  &c.  xiii 

are  thofe  prefcribed  for  the  preceding  error:  for  if 
the  mind  je  attentive  to  the  fentiments  delivered, 
the  voice  will  be  adapted  to  their  nature  and  im- 
portance. 

6.  Reading  with  an  improper  tone,  is  a  great 
and  common  fault  of  learners,  and  muft  be  careful- 
ly avoided. 

No  habit  is  more  eafy  to  be  contracted  than  this, 

-  or  harder  to  be  overcome.      This  unnatural  tone  in 

reading,  is  always  dHgufting  to  perfons  of  fenfe  an. I 

:  acy.  Some  have  a  fqueaking  tone.  Perfons 
whofe  voices  are  fhrill  and  weak,  or  overtrained, 
are  apt  to  fall  into  this  tone. — Some  have  a  fin 
or  canting  note :  others  aflumc  a  high,  fwelling 
tone.  Thefe  lay  too  much  ftrefs  on  every  fentence, 
and  violate  every  rule  of  decent  pronunciation. — 
Some  affect  an  awful  and  ftriking  tone,  attended 
with  ffefemn  grimace;  as  if  they  wiftied  to  move 
the  reader  with  every  word,  whether  the  weight 
of  the  fubjedt  fupports  them,  or  not. — §ome  have 
a  fct,  uniform  tone  of  voice,  which  has  already 
n  noticed.  Others  have  a  ftrange,  whimficaJ, 
whining  tone,  peculiar  to  thcrrtfelves,  and  not  cafy 
to  bj  defcribcd.  They  are  continually  laying  the 
emphafis  on  words  which  do  not  require  or  de- 
fer ve  it. 

• 

To  avoid  all  kinds  of  unnatural  arid  dilugrcc, 
tones,    we  fhould  read  with,  the  fame  cafe  and  free- 
dom that  would  mark  our  private  converfation,   on 
the  fame  fubjeft.      We  do  not  hear  perfons  con- 
b 


xiv  RULES,   &C. 

verfe  in  a  tone  :  if  we  did,  we  fhould  laugh  at 
them.  "  Do  not,"  fays  Dr.  Watts,  "  aft'ecl  to 
change  that  natural  and  eafy  found  with  which 
you  fpeak,  for  a  ftrange,  new,  awkward  tone,  as 
fome  do,  when  they  begin  to  read.  We  fhould 
almoft  be  perfuaded  that  the  fpeaker  and  the  reader 
were  two  different  perfons,  if  our  eyes  did  not  tell 
us  the  contrary." 

We  fhalt  clofe  thefe  rules  and  obfervations,  by 
a  remark  of  confiderable  importance  to  young  per- 
fons who  are  defirous  of  learning  to  read  well. 
Few  rules  on  the  fubject  are  intelligible  to  children, 
unlefs  illuftrated  by  the  voice  of  a  competent  in- 
ilructer.  They  fhould,  therefore,  pay  great  atten- 
tion to  the  manner  in  which  their  teacher,  and 
other  perfons  of  approved  Ikil^  perform  the  buii- 
nefs  of  reading.  They  fhould  obferve  their  mode 
of  pronouncing  the  words,  placing  the  emphafis, 
making  the  paufes,  managing  the  voice,  andSfedapt- 
ing  it  to  the  various  fubjects  they  read  ;  and,  in 
all  thefe  refpefts,  endeavour  to  imitate  them  as 
nearly  as  poffible. 


CONTENTS. 

I\IRT  i. 

.S  I.V  PROSK. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Page 

SELECT   SENTENCES   AXD    PARAGRAPHS,       -       -        1 

-^CHAPTER  II. 


^ft  VARRAflVE    PI: 

r.  i.  The  pious  fons.         -----      12 

2.  Filial  fcnfibility,        -  13 

3.  Cruelty  to  infects  condemned,        -      15 

4.  Selfiih  forrow  reproved,  -      -      16 

5 .  We  are  often  deceived  by  appearances,  1 7 

6.  The  two  bees,    ------18 

7.  Ingenuity  and  Induftry  rewarded,  -      19 

8.  The  fecret  of  being  always  fatisfied,  22 

9.  Beneficence  is  its  own  reward,       -      23 
10.  The  compaflionate  Judge,  24 

11  The  generous  negro,      -      -      -      -      2^ 

12  The  Indian  Chief,     -      -  28 
13.  Noble  behaviour  of  Scipio, 


>;V1  CONTENTS. 

Page 

SECT.  14.   Virtue  in  humble  life,       -  33 

15.   The  female  choice,  36 

r6.   The  noble  baiket-maker,  39 

CHAPTER  III. 

DlDACflC    PIECES. 

SECT.  i.   Tendernefs  to  mothers,        -     -     -  42 
?,.   Refpect  and  affection  due  from  pupils 

to  their  tutors,        -----  43 

3.  On  filial  piety,  ------  44 

4.  Love  between  brothers  and  fitters,  45 
$.   Benevolence,      ------  46 

6.  Ingratitude  to  our  Supreme  Bene- 

factor,  is  highly  culpable,  47 

7.  Speculation  and  practice,    •»     -     -  48 

CHAPTER  IV. 

, 

DESCRIPTIVE    PIECES. 

SECT.  i.  The  Eagle, 50 

2.  The  humming-bird,       -      -      -      -  S3 

3.  Thehorfe,    -------  56 

4.  The  Ouran-Outang,      -     -     -     -  60 

5.  The  four  feafons,    -----  64 

6.  Divine  Providence,        -     -     -     -  66 

7.  Health, 6% 

8.  Charity, #9 

9.  Gratitude, -70 

10.  Mortality, ~  71 

11.  Immortality,        ..----  72 

12.  Heaven,        -------  73 


CONTENTS.  XV11 


CHAPTER  V. 

DIALOGUES. 

Page 
SECT.  i.   Canute  and  his  courtiers, — Flattery 

reproved,      ------      76 

2.  The  two  robbers. — We  often   con- 

demn in  others  what  we  praclife 
ourfelves,      ------      79 

3.  A     family      converfation — On     the 

flavery  of  the  negroes,  -  82 

.{.  The  father  redeemed  from  flavery 

by  his  fon, 88 

-.  The  tutor  and  his  pupils. — Eyes  and 

no  eyes  ;   or,   the  art  of  feeing,          91 

CHAPTER  VI. 

PROMISCUOUS    PJEi 

SECT.  i.   We  deftroy  pleafure  by  purfuing  it 

too  eagerly,        -      -      -      -      -      -    104 

2.  On  fifterly  unity  and  love,    -  105 

3.  The  Supreme  Ruler  of  the  world,      106 

4.  Abraham  and  Lot ;    a   fine  example 

of  wifdom  and  condefcenfion,     *    107 
^.    A  perfecuting  fpirit  reproved,         -    109 

6.  The  folly  of  pride,        -      -      -*     -    110 

7.  The  whiitle,        -      -      -      -      -      -113 

8.  A  generous  mind  does  not  repine  at 

the  advantages  others  enjoy,     -    115 

9.  Infolent  deportment  towards  inferiors 

reproved,     -  -117 

b  2 


XVlll  CONTENTS. 

Page 

SECT.  10.    Arachne  and  Melifla,       -     -     -119 
IT.   Socrates      and      Leander. — Difre- 
fpecl  to  parents,  is  in  no  cafe  al- 
lowable,    -      -     -      -     -     -     -121 

12.  Socrates  and  Demetrius. — Brethren 

fhould    dwell    together    in   har- 
mony,       --_«      ---123 

13.  On  good  breeding,       -     -     -     -   126 

14.  The  ungrateful  gueft,        -      -      -    129 

15.  The  hofpitable  negro  woman,       -    131 

1 6.  Catharina,   emprefs  of  Ruffia,      -   135 

17.  The  fame  fubj eel  continued,  -      -    137 

1 8.  Virtue  and  happinefs  equally  attain- 

able by  the  rich  and  the  poor,  -    140 

19.  The  character  of  Chrift,       -      -      141 


PART  II. 
PIECES  IN  POETRY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Page 

T  SENTENCES  AND  PARAGRAPHS,   -      144 

CHAPTER  II. 

NARRATIVE    PIECES. 


SECT.  I.  The  Looking-glafs  \   or,  ill  humour 
corrected,      -     -     -     -     -     - 


CONTENTS.  XIX 

Page 

SECT.  2.  The  Butterfly  and  the  Snail;  or  ele- 
vation renders  little  minds  proud 
and  infolent,  -  -  -  -  -151 

3.  The  Brother  and  Sifter ;  or,  mental 

excellence   fuperior   to   perfonal 
beauty,    -     -      -      -     -      -     -153 

4.  The  Lamb  and  the  Pig;  or,  nature 

and  education,   -     -     -      -      -   154 

5.  The  Bee  and  the  Ant ;   or,   the  ad- 

vantages of  application  and  dili- 
gence in  early  years,      -     -     -    155 

6.  The  Doves,        -      -      -      -     -      -157 

The  Goldfinches,     -     -     -     -     -   159 

8.  The  pet  Lamb,         -    •-  -   161 

9.  The  Farmer,   the  Spaniel,  and  the 

Cat,        ---.-.-    ^4 

10.  The  Wheat  and  the  Weeds,-    -      -    166 

11.  Economy  the  fource  of  charity,     -    167 

CHAPTER  III. 

DIDACTIC    PIECES. 

T.  i.   To  fome  children  liftening  to  a  lark,  170 

2.  The  advantages  of  early  religion,       171 

3.  Peace  and  love  recommended,        -    172 
To  a  young  woman,   with  a  watch,    173 

5.  Verfes  accompanying  a  nofegay,     -  173 

6.  Duties  of  the  morning,  -  175 

7.  The  Mind  to  be  cultivated,       -      -  176 

8.  Dependence  on  Providence,  -      -  177 


XX  CONTENTS. 

Page 
CHAPTER  IV. 

DESCRIPTIVE   PIECES. 

SECT.  i.  The  pleafures  of  retirement,          -  180 

2.  The  Sluggard,  -      -                         -  181 

3.  Creation  and  Providence,  -      -      -  182 

4.  A  morning  in  Spring,         -      -      -  183 

5.  Heavenly  wifdom,          -     -     -      -  184 

6.  The  man  of  Rofs,        -                  -  185 

7.  Refignation,      -----  186 

8.  Charafter  of  Chrift,      -      -      -       -  187 

CHAPTER  V. 

PROMISCUOUS    PIECES. 

SECT.  i.   Gratitude  to  the  Supreme  Being,  189 

2.  Acknowledgment  of  Divine  favours,  190 

3.  The  excellence  of  the   Bible,    -     -  191 

4.  On  Induftry,       ------  192 

5.  On  early  rifing,         -----  193 

6.  The  drowning  fly,          -  194 

7.  To  a  Redbreaft,        -----  1^4 

8.  To  a  child  of  five  years  old,      -     -  195 

9.  The  Rofe,    -------  196 

jo.  The  Ant,      -------  jp6 

11.  A  morning  hymn,    -----  197 

12.  An  evening  hymn,  -----  198 

13.  The  Winter's  Day,         -     -     -     -  199 

14.  Compailion  and  forgivenefs,      -      -  20D 

15.  The  ignorance  of  man,  -      -     -      -  201 

1 6.  The  happy  choice,  -----  202 


CONTENTS.  XXI 

Page 
SECT.  17.  The  fall  of  the  leaf,    -     -     -     -   203 

1 8.  Truft  in  the  goodnefs  of  God,      -   204 

19.  The  Chriftian  race,      -  205 

20.  The  dying  Chriftian  to  his  foul,      206 

21.  Epitaph  on  a  poor  and  virtuous 

man,       -------    206 

22.  Love  to  enemies,         -  207 
2£.   The  dangers  and  fnares  of  life,        208 

24.  The  Divine  Being  knows  and  fees 

every  thing,        -----    209 

25.  All  nature  attefts  the  great  Creator,  211 

26.  Praife  due  to  God  for  his  wonder- 

ful works,  -      -      -      -      -213 

27.  The  happy  end,    -----   214 

28.  A  kind  and  gentle  temper  of  great 

importance  to  the  happinefs  of  life,  215 

29.  Simplicity,       -      -      -      -      -      -216 

30.  Care  and  Generofity,        -      -      -   217 

31.  The  Slave,  -      -  -   219 

32.  The  Swallows,       -     -  *         221 


CAUTION,  BY  THE  AMERICAN  PUBLISHERS. 


AS  the  correfpcndents  of  LINDLEY  MURRAY,  and  publifhers  of 
his  various  works,  COLLINS  &  PERKINS  think  it  neceffary  to  ap- 
prife  the  public,  that  feveral  editions  of  the  Grammar  have  been 
-  printed  in  different  parts  of  the  United  States,  with  alterations  of 
the  original  text,  for  which  copy  rights  have  been  claimed  by  the 
parties  concerned,  to  fecure  to  themfclves  an  emolument  anting 
from  an  exclufive  fale.  One  edition  of  the  Abridged  Grammar, 
has  been  publifhed  by  a  teacher,  at  Bofton,  fattened,  becaufe  it 
was  conceived  by  him  to  have  been  before  too  long.  Another  has 
been  publifhed  by  a  teacher  at  Philadelphia,  fomcwhat  enlarged,  be- 
caufe be  confidered  it  before  too  foort.  A  third  has  been  publifhed 
at  Worcefter,  by  a  teacher,  who,  thinking  it  to  be  neither  too 
Ihort  nor  too  long,  has  introduced  a  "  New  Syftem  of  Punctuation" 
only.  A  fourth  has  been  publifhed  at  Hartford,  alfo  enlarged,  but 
with  totally  different  motives  from  the  edition  of  Philadelphia.  It 
alfo  diffents  from  that  printed  at  Worcefter,  even  fpecifying  in  its 
title  page,  that  it  contains  «  Murray's  Treatife  on  Punctuation  at 
large."  Although  altered  with  fuch  contradictory  views,  each 
claims  a  preference,  each  claims  a  copy  right,  and  each  claims  a 
profit.  The  publifher  of  one  of  the  altered  editions  (that  at  Phi- 
ladelphia) announces,  that  "  the  manifeft  fuperiority  of  his,  over  every 
other  American  edition  of  Murray's  Abridgment,  muft  enfure  to  it 
Si  decided  preference  wherever  it  can  be  obtained."  !  ! 

It  will  amufe  many  to  be  made  acquainted  with  the  ingenious  ex- 
pedients ufed  by  ibme  of  the  authors  of  thefe  mutilated  editions  to 
give  them  importance.  The  editor  of  the  Philadelphia  edition, 
though  perhaps  the  leaft  valuable  of  the  whole,  in  recommendation 
of  his  performance,  addreifcs  the  public  thus  : 

"  The  very  rapid  faie  of  the  former  edition  of  this  book,  and  its 
cxtenfive  circulation  throughout  the  continent,  now  induce  me  to  pub- 
lifh  a  fecond." 

This  "  former  edition,"  it  is  neceffary  to  remark,  confifted  of  one 
thoufand  copies,  which,  aided  by  a  feries  of  newfpaper  advertife- 
ments,  were  pufhed  off  in  eighteen  months,  that  period  having 
elapfed  between  the  appearance  of  the  firft  and  the  fecond  edition. 
Of  the  REAL  Murray V  Abridgment,  or  that  made  by  LINDLEY  MUR- 
RAY himfelf,  there  have  been  fold,  during  the  fame-  period,  in  the 


pri 

dilated  *'  THROUGHOUT  THE  CONTINENT."  Not  a  copy  has  pro- 
bably ever  reache-d  Cape  Horn,  Baffin's  Bay,  nor  Nootka  .Sound, 
"  throughout"  all  which  places,  it  fhould  feem  that  the  pro- 
duction of  the  iingular  Grammarian  of  Philadelphia  has  had  an. 
*'  extenfive  circulation"  !  ! 


The  fame  editor,  \\  acurer.ef*,  ur^eshisfuperiority  over 

LINDLEY  MURRAY,  becauie,  forlboth!  he  (the  editor)  is  an  "  ex- 
perienced teacher."  Murray,  he  avers,  <;finnot  be/w  ivtll  acquainted" 
5;c.  It  docs  not  appear  to  have  occurred  to  him  that  three, 
equally,  or  perhaps  more  "  experienced  teachers,"  as  we  have  had 
occafion  t<  differ  from  him,  have  altered  the  work  for 

reafons  dlreStly  '  all  had  perhaps  quite  as  much  of  the 

rt    and    "  recommendations"  of  particular  friends,    and   have 
all,  no  doubt,  thought  ther.ilc.lves    entitled  to   receive  as   large   a 
pecuniary  compensation  for  thtir  "  improvements."  !  !  ! 
lile  jinijlrorfitm.  Lie  ii  xtrorfum^   ttnus    utrlqile 
E  R  K  o  K 

In  juftice,  however,  to  i~>me  of  the  frivnd:  of  the  • 
Philadelphia  edition,  who  gave  him  written  recommcndal 
for  t:  tluit  th^y 

honourably  laid  that  1  arid    adoptetl  the  gennn. 

of  M.. 

In  conffqnencc  o1 
from  the  pen  of  the  ai,- 

Grammar,  arc    Inid 

,  iti  the  ihoit  peri. ?d  oi' eleven  years,  hr.s  paflcd 

that 
,    and 

.loptcd  in  nrurly 
n  both  coin 

it.—  ! 

ni  the 
pub!: 
and  c 

met    \ 

of  S 

and  ad 

d   to 

jufti;;  .:UKRAY  approv- 

ed of  ;-ed   on  the 

much  abu! 

i.inc'ilry   Murray, 
mi»rc  cautious  in  cha- 
C.  &  P.  with  "  v: 

uoR,  and  efpecialiy  with  mslateit  imp'-cvemcnts.     I  liiall 


make  it  a  point  to  communicate  to  them,  from  time  to  time,  and  as 
early  as  poflible,  copies  of  all  the  new  and  improved  editions  of  the 
books.  It  affords  me  a  peculiar  gratification  to  perceive,  that  my 
publications  are  fo  extenfively  dilfufed  over  my  native  country.'1 

COLLINS  &  PERKINS  think  it  due  to  the  author  of  this  very 
valuable  Grammar,  as  well  as  to  the  caufe  of  literature  in  general, 
to  make  known  that,  although  they  are  at  all  times  enabled  to 
f'upply  the  lateft  American  editions  of  the  real  Murray's  Grammar* 
yet  they  are  indifpofed  to  monopolize  the  profits  ariiing  from  the 
fale  of  a  book,  whofe  author  would  himfelf  never  receive  any  ;  and 
that  they  will  therefore,  with  readinefs,  as  they  have  done  hereto- 
fore, furnilh  the  lat'eft* London  editions,  which  they  regularly  re- 
ceive from  the  author,  to  any  refpeclable  printers  rending  in  other 
parts  of  the  United  States,  who  will  only  engage  to  print  them 
handfomely  and  correctly. 


The  following  is  a  list  of  COLLINS 
editions  of  Murray '.y  works^  with  their  prices  at 
retail,  and  by  the  dozen. 

Wholesale 
Kit  ail.  per  Doz. 
Cants.  Dds.  Cts. 

1.  Firft  Book  for  Children,  from  4th  Eng.  edit.  9  75 

2.  An  Englifh  Spelling-Book,  jth  do.  25         2     oo 

3.  An  Englifh  Grammar,  1 6th  do.  75          7     50 

4.  Eng.  Exercifes  to  the  Grammar,     1 2th  do.  6z-|       6     oo 

5.  A  Key  to  the  Englim  Exercifes,       roth  do.  62^       6     oo 

6.  An  Abridgment  of  the  Grammar,  2Oth  do.  25          1     50 

7.  Introduction  to  the  Eng.  Reader,       jth  do.  6z|       6     oo 

8.  The  Englifh  Reader,  6th  do.  87 1       9     oo 

9.  Sequel  to  the  Engliih  Reader,  2d  do.  87  £       9     90 
jo.   Introduction  au  Lecleur  Fr.ingois,                              8;|        9     oo 

11.  Ledeur  Francois,  I      25      12     50 

12.  The  Power  of  Religion  on  L!VJ  Mind,  i^th  do.    *     o^>     10     oo 

* %*  The  Proprietors  of  Un.lhy  Murray's  works,  think  it  is  no 
fnnK  recommendation  o>  th -ni,  thdt  the  whole  of  thefe  valuable 
publications,  from  "  The  Firft  Book  tor  Children,"  to  the  "  Power  of 
Religion  on  the  Mind/'  m:-.y  be  properly  confidered,  as  forming  a 
little  co  le  of  important  elementary  inftru<9tion.  They  are  ilri ••lly 
fubfervicnt  to  one  inuth-r,  ati  I  moil  intimately  conne'fted.  Their 
peculiar  and  acknowledged  excellence  is,  that  in  every  part  of  them, 
the  pureft  principles  of  piety  and  virtue,  itre  happily  bbnded  with 
th.-  elements  of  literature.  They  may,  therefore,  with  the  greeted 
confidence,  bc'put  into  the  hands  of  young  perfons,  as  books  which 
(to  ufe  ti;e  language  of  a  Reviewer  respecting  them)  "  will  eminent  y 
conduce  to  pure  religion  and  morality,  and  to  the  aequifition  of  a 
correct  and  elegant  ftylc." 


INTRODUCTION 

TO  THE   ENGLISH   READER. 


PART  I. 
PIECES  IN  PROSE. 


CHAPTER    I. 
SELECT    SENTENCES    AND   PARAGRAP! 

SECTION    I. 

i  O  be  good  is  to  be  happy. 

Vice  foon  or  late  brings  mifery. 

We  were  not  made  for  ourfelves  only. 

A  good  perfon    has    a    tender  concern    for  the 
happinefs  of  others. 

Modefty  is  one  of  the  chief  ornaments  of  youth. 

Deceit  discovers  a  little  mind. 

Cultivate  the  love  of  truth. 

No  confidence  can  be  placed  in  thofe  who  are 
in  the  habit  of  lying. 

Neglect  no  opportunity  of  doing  good. 
B 


2  Introduction,  &c\  Part  i. 

Idlenefs  is  the  parent  of  vice  and  mifery. 

Cleanlinefs  promotes  health  of  body  and  delica- 
cy of  mind. 

The  real  wants  of  nature  are  foon  fatisfied. 

A  contented  mind  is  an  ineftimable  treafure. 

Deliberate  before  you  promife. 

Boaft  not  of  the  favours  you  beftow. 

Merit  the  approbation  of  the  wife  and  good. 

It  is  a  great  bleffing  to  have  pious  and  virtuous 
parents. 

The  moft  fecret  acts  of  goodnefs  are  feen  and 
approved  by  the  Almighty. 


,e 


SECTION     II. 


OUR  reputation,  virtue,  and  happinefs,  greatly 
epend  on  the  choice  of  our  companions. 

Good  or  bad  habits,  formed  in  youth,  generally 
go  with  us  through  life. 

We  fhould  be  kind  to  all  perfons,  even  to  thofe 
who  are  unkind  to  us. 

When  we  acknowledge  our  mifconduct,  and  are 
forry  for  it,  generous  and  good  perfons  will  pity 
and  forgive  us. 

Our  be  ft  friends  are  thofe  who  tell  us  of  our 
faults,  and  teach  us  how  to  correct  them. 

If  tales  were  not  liftened  to,  there  would  be  no 
tale-bearers. 

To  take  fincere  pleafure  in  the  bieffings  and  ex- 
cellences of  others,  is  a  fure  mark  of  a  good  heart. 

We  can  never  treat  a  fellow-creature  ill,  with- 
out offending  the  gracious  Creator  and  Father  of  all. 


SeleR  Sentences,    &c.  3 

A  kind  word,  nay,  even  a  kind  look,  often  af- 
fords comfort  to  the  afflicted. 

Every  defire  of  the  heart,  every  fecret  thought, 
is  known  to  him  who  made  us. 


SECTION     III. 

• 

llr  tint  cares  only  for  himfelf,  has  but  few  plea- 
furcs  ;  and  thofe  few  are  of  the  loweft  order. 

may  efcape  the  cenfure  of  others,  when  we 
wrong  privately  j   but   we  cannot  avoid  the  re- 
proaches of  our  own  mind. 

Partiality  to  felf  ofren  hides  from   us  our  own 
faults;  we  fee  very  clearly  the  fame  faults  in  others, 
fport   with    pain  and    diftrefs,  in  any  of 
your  amufements  ;   nor  treat  even  the  meaneft  in- 
fect with  wanton  cruelty. 

Vicious  purfuits  may  yield  a  fewfcattered  plea- 
fures  ;  but  piety  and  virtue  will  make  our  whole 
life  hapj 

y  paints  pleafurcs  at  a  diftance  with  beauti- 
ful colours  ;  but  pofsefllon  often  takes  away  their 
beauty. 

We  fhould  accuftom  ourfelves  to  bear  fmall  inju- 
•..ill  then  be  better  able  to  fup- 
'  great  01, 

on  provoked  by  the  follies  of  others,  think 

our  own  imperfections  ;   be  patient  and  humble. 

Without  frugality   none  can  be  rich  ;   and  with 

uld  be  poor. 

good  or  bad    difpofition    of  children  often 
.elf,  in  their  behaviour  to  fervants  and  in- 


4  .Introduction,   &t.  Part  i. 

feriors  ;  it  is  feen  even  in  their  treatment  of  dumb 
animals. 

They  who  ridicule  the  wife  and  good  are  dan- 
gerous companions  •,  they  bring  virtue  itfeif  into 
contempt. 

We  cannot  be  good  as  God  is  good,  to  all  per- 
fons  every  where  ;  but  we  can  rejoice,  that  every 
where  there  is  a  God  to  do  them  good. 

SECTION    iv. 

WH  £  N  blefled  with  health  and  profperity,  cul- 
tivate a  humble  and  compaffionate  difpolition  ; 
think  of  the  diftreffes  of  human  life  ;  of  the  foli- 
tary  cottage,  the  dying  parent,  and  weeping  orphan. 

Avoid  all  harfhnefs  in  behaviour  :  treat  every 
o.ne  with  that  courtefy  which  fprings  from  a  mild 
and  gentle  heart. 

Be  flow  in  forming  intimate  connexions  :  they 
may  bring  diflionour  and  mifery. 

Almoft  all  our  deiires  are  apt  to  wander  into  an 
improper  courfe  :  to  direct  them  properly  requires 
care  ;  but  that  care  will  render  us  safe  and  happy 
through  life. 

The  days  that  are  paft,  are  gone  for  ever  ,  thofe 
that  are  to  come,  may  not  come  to  us  •,  the  prefent 
time  only  is  ours  :  let  us,  therefore,  improve  it  as 
much  as  poffible. 

They  \vho  are  moderate  in  their  expectations, 
meet  with  few  difappointments  :  the  eager  and  pre- 
fumptuous  are  continually  disappointed. 

Whatever  is  worth  doing  at  all,  is  worth  doing 


Chap,    i .  Select  Sentences,  &c.  5 

well :   but  it  is  impoffiblc  to  do  any  thing  well  with- 
out attention. 

Let  us  not  expect  too  much  pleafure  in  this  life  ; 
no  fituation  is  exempt  from  trouble.  The  bed 
perfons  are,  no  doubt,  the  happieft  ;  but  they  too 
have  their  trials  and  afflictions. 

SECTION    Y. 

How  greatly  do  tjie  kind  offices  of  a  dutiful  and 
child,  gladden    the    heart  of  a  parent, 
efpeciaily  when  linking  under  age  or  infirmities! 

What  better  proof  can  we  give  of  wifdom  and 
goodnefs,  than  to  be  content  with  the  ftation  in 
which  Providence  has  placed  us  ? 

An  honeft  man,  (as  Pope  expreiTes  himfelf,)  is 
the  noble  ft  work  of  God.  ' 

How  pleafant  it  is,  when  we  lie  down  at  night, 
to  reflect  that  we  are    at   peace   with   all   perfons  ! 
have  carefully  performed  the  duties   of  the 
1    that  the  Almighty  beholds  and  loves  us  ! 
HOY  fhould  we  forgive  thofe  who  offend 

us,   if  we  cnnfidered  how  much  our  heavenly  Fa- 
ther ha»  forgiven  us  ! 

iiange  the  humble  peace  which 
virtue  gives,  for  all  the  honours  and  pleafures  of  a 
vain  world  ? 

Pride  (to  ufc  the  emphatical  words  of  a  facred 
writer)  was  not  made  for  man. 

How  can  we  fpend  our  time  foolifhly,  when  we 
know  that  we  muft  give  an  account  hereafter,  of 

thoughts,  words,  and  actions  ? 
How  glorious   an  object   is  the  sun  !   t>ut  how 
13  2 


6  Introduction,    &c.  Part  r. 

much  more  glorious  is  that  great   and  good  Being 
who  mjde  it  for  our  ufe  ! 

Behold,  how  rich  and  beautiful  are  the  works  of 
nature  !  What  a  bountiful  proviilon  is  made  for 
our  wants  and  pleafures  !  Surely,  the  author  of  fa 
many  bleffings  is  worthy  of  our  love  and  grati- 
tude ! 

SECTION     VI. 

CYRU  s,  when  young,  being  afked  what  was  the 
firft  thing  which  he  learned,  anfwered  •,  "  To 
fpeak  the  truth/* 

Epaminondas,  the  celebrated  Theban  general, 
was  remarkable  for  his  love  of  truth.  He  never 
told  a  lie  even  in  jeft. 

All  our  moral  duties  are  contained  in  thefe  few 
words  ;  "  Do  as  you  would  be  done  by.'' 

The  following  was  a  favourite  fentiment  of  the 
wife  and  good  Socrates  :  "  We  fhould  eat  and 
drink,  in  order  to  live ;  i-nftead  of  living,  as  many 
do,  to  eat  and  drink/' 

Artaxerxes  Mnemon,  king  of  Perfia,  being,  up- 
on an  extraordinary  occafion,  reduced  to  eat  barley 
bread  and  dried  figs,  and  to  drink  water  ;  "  What 
pleafure/'  faici  he,  "  have  I  loft  till  now,  by  my 
delicacies  and  excefs  !J' 

When  Cato  drew  near  the  clofe  of  life,  he  made 
this  moft  benevolent  declaration  to  his  friends  : 
u  The  greateft  comfort  of  my  old  age,  is,  the  plea- 
fing  remembrance  of  the  friendly  offices  I  have 
done  to  others.  To  fee  them  eafy  and  happy  by 
my  meansj  makes  me  truly  fo." 


Chap.  i.  SeleR  Sentences,  toV.  7 

Mark  Anthony,  when  under  adv7erfe  circumftan- 
ces,  made  this  intereiling  exclamation  ;  "  I  have 
loft  all,  except  what  I  have  given  away  !" 

The  emperor  Marcus  Aurelius,  a  pious  and  good 
man,  exprelTed  the  benevolence  of  his  heart,  in 
thefe  words  :  "I  cannot  reliih  a  happinefs  which 
no  one  partakes  of  but  myfclf.  ' 

Edward  the  VI.  king  of  England,  being,  when 
very  young,  required  by  his  uncle  to  fign  a  warrant 
for  the  execution  of  a  poor  woman,  on  account  of 
her  religious  principles,  faid,  with  tears  in  his 
eyes  :  "  I  ahnoft  wilh  I  had  never  learned  to 
write/' 

SECTION     VII. 

PITY  the  forrows  and  fufferings  of  the  poor. 
Disdain  not  to  enter  their  wretched  abodes  j  nor 
to  liflen  to  their  moving  lamentations. 

Gratitude  is  a  delightful  emotion.  The  grate- 
ful heart  at  once  performs  its  duty,  and  endears  it* 
felf  to  others. 

If  we  ought  to  be  grateful  for  fervices  received 
from  our  friends,  how  ihould  our  hearts  glow  with 
thankfulnefs  to  Him,  who  has  given  us  being,  and 
all  the  bleilings  we  enjoy  ! 

Young  people  too  often  fet  out  in  life,  with  too 
much  confidence  in  themfelves.  Alas  !  how  little 
do  they  know  the  dangers  which  await  them  ! 

To  repine  at    the  improvements  of  others,   and 
tvifh  to  deprive  them  of  the  praife  they  have  defer- 
,  is  an  envious  and  odious  disposition. 

ought  not  to  be  proud  or  vain  of  the  advan- 


8  Introduction^   &c.  Part  I. 

tages  we  poflefs ;  but  humbly  endeavour  to  ufe 
them  for  the  benefit  of  our  fellow-creatures,  and 
the  glory  of  that  great  Being  from  whom  we  have 
received  them. 

If  we  confider  how  much  the  comfort,  or  the 
uneafinefs  of  all  around  us,  depends  on  the  ftate  of 
our  own  temper,  we  fhould  fiirely  endeavour  to 
render  it  fweet  and  accommodating. 

When  we  feel  our  inability  to  refift  evil,  and  to 
do  good,  what  a  comfort  it  is,  to  know  that  our 
heavenly  Father  will,  if  we  humbly  apply  to  him, 
hear  our  prayers,  and  gracioufly  affiil  us  ! 

When  young  perfons  are  afflicted  with  illnefs, 
how  greatly  do  they  endear  themfelves  to  a|l  about 
them,  by  being  tractable,  cdnfiderate,  gentle,  and 
grateful  !  but  how  painful  it  is,  to  fee  them  peevifh, 
felf-willed,  and  unthankful  !  How  much  do  the 
former  qualities  lefTen  the  affliction  ;  and  the  latter, 
increafe  it ! 

A  family  where  the  great  Father  of  the  univerfe 
is  duly  reverenced  ^  where  parents  are  honoured 
and  obeyed  ;  where  brothers  and  fitters  dwell  'to-  • 
gether  in  love  and  harmony  ;  where  peace  and  or- 
der reign  ;  where  there  is  no  law  but  the  law  of 
kindnefs  and  wifdom  ;  is  furely  a  mofl  delightful 
and  in tere fling  fpectacle  ! 

SECTION    VIII. 

GOD  is  the  kindefr  ind  beft  of  beings.  He  is 
our  Father.  He  approves  us  when  we  do  well : 
he  pities  us  when  we  trr  .  and  he  clefires  to  make 
us  happy  for  eva ,  How  greatly  fliould  we  love 


Cbnp.   i.  Select  Sentences,    isV.  g 

fo  good  and  kind  a  Father  !  and  how  careful  fhould 
we  be  to  ferve  and  please  him. 

Never    infult  the   unfortunate,    especially  when 
they   implore   relief  or    affiftance.      If  you  cannot 
grant  their   requefts,  refufe  them    mildly  and  ten- 
derly.     If  you    feel    compaflion  for   them,    (and 
it  good  heart  can  behold   diftreis  without  fecl- 
compaflion  ?)  be  not  afliamed  to  exprefs  it. 
Liften  to  the   affectionate  counfels   of  your  pa- 
ts ;  treaiurc    up   their   precepts  ;   respect  their 
r  judgment  ;  ,and  enjoy,  with  gratitude  and  de- 
light, the  advantages    refuiting  from  their  fociety. 
Bind   to  your  bofom,  by  the  moft    endearing  ties, 
your   brothers    and  fifters  ;   cherifh  them   as  your 
belt  companions,    through  the  variegated  journey 
of  life;   and  fuffer  no  jealoufies  and  contentions  to 
interrupt    the  harmony,   which  fliould  ever  reign 
ainongft  you. 

They  who  are  accuftomed  to  view  their  com- 
panions in  the  moil  favourable  light,  are  like  per- 
ibns  who  dwell  amidft  thole  beautiful  fcenes  of 
nature,  on  which  the  eye  refts  with  pleafure.  Sut- 
picious  perfons  resemble  the  traveller  in  the  wilder- 
ncfo,  who  Ices  no  objects  around  him,  but  what  are 
r  dreary  or  terrible. 

<  TION   ix. 

/ole  youth  lamented,  in  terms  of  fincere 

i,  the   death  of  a   moft    affectionate  parent. — 

companion  endeavoured  to  confole  him  by  the 

clion,  that  he  had   always   behaved  to   the  de- 

'.vith  duty,  tendernefs,  and  refpect.      "  So  I 


JO  Introduction  >  &c.  Part  I. 

thought/'  replied  the  youth,  "  whilft  my  parent 
was  living  :  but  now  I  recollect,  with  pain  and  for- 
row,  many  inftances  of  difobedience  and  negledl, 
for  which,  alas  !  it  is  too  late  to  make  atonement." 

Sir  Ifaac  Newton  pofTefTed  a  remarkably  mild 
and  even  temper.  This  great  man,  on  a  particu- 
lar occafion,  was  called  out  of  his  ftudy  to  an 
adjoining  apartment.  A  little  clog,  named  Dia- 
mond, the  conftant  but  incurious  attendant  of  his 
mafter's  refearches,  happened  to  be  left  among  the 
papers  ;  and  threw  down  a  lighted  candle,  which 
confumed  the  almoft  fini(hed  labours  of  fome  years. 
Sir  Ifaac  foon  returned,  and  had  the  mortification 
to  behold  his  irreparable  lofs.  But,  with  his  usual 
felf-poffeflion,  he  only  exclaimed  ;  u  Oh  Diamond  • 
Diamond  !  thou  little  knoweft  the  mifchief  thou 
haft  done." 

Chieen  Caroline  having  obferved  that  her  daugh- 
ter, the  princefs ,  had  made  one  of  the 

ladies  about  her  ftand  a  long  time,  whilft  fhe  was 
talking  to  her  on  fome  trifling  fubjecl,  was  refolv- 
ed  to  give  her  a  suitable  reprimand.  When  the 
princefs  came  in  the  evening,  as  usual,  to  read  to 
her,  and  was  drawing  a  chair  to  fit  down,  the 
queen  faid  ;  "  No,  my  dear,  you  muft  not  fit  at 
prefent  •,  for  I  intend  to  make  you  ftand  this  even- 
ing, as  long  as  yon  fuffered  lady to  remain 

in  the  fame  poiition/' 

The  benevolent  John  Howard,  having  fettled 
his  accounts  at  the  clofe  of  a  particular  year,  and 
found  a  balance  in  his  favour,  propofed  to  his  wife 
to  make  ufe  of  it  in  a  journey  to  London,  or  in  any 
other  amufement  (he  chofe.  "  What  a  pretty 


Select  Sentences^  &c.  ir 

cottage  for  a  poor  family  it  would  build  !*'  was 
her  anfwer.  This  charitable  hint  met  his  cordial 
approbation,  and  the  money  was  laid  out  accor- 
dingly. 

Horace,  a  celebrated  Roman  poet,  relates,  that 
a  countryman,  who  wanted  to  pafs  a  river,  flood 
loitering  on  the  banks  of  it,  in  the  foolifh  expecta- 
tion, that  a  current  fo  rapid  would  foon  difcharge 
its  waters.  But  the  ftream  ftill  flowed,  increafed, 
perhaps,  by  frefli  torrents  from  the  mountains  : 
and  it  muft  for  ever  flow,  becaufe  the  fources, 
from  which  it  is  derived,  are  inexhaustible. — Thus, 
the  idle  and  irrefolute  youth  trifles  over  his  books, 
or  waftes  in  play  the  precious  moments  ;  deferring 
the  tafk  of  improvement,  which  at  firft  is  eafy  to 
be  accomplifhed,  but  which  will  become  more  and 
more  difficult,  the  longer  it  is  neglected. 


CHAPTER  II. 

NARRATIVE    PIECES. 

SECTION     I. 
The  pious  sons. 

AN  one  of  thofe  terrible  eruptions  of  mount  -/Etna, 
which  have  often  happened,  the  danger  to  the  in- 
habitants of  the  adjacent  country,  was  uncommonly 
great.  To  avoid  immediate  deftruction  from  the 
flames,  and  the  melted  lava  which  ran  down  the 
fides  of  the  mountain,  the  people  were  obliged  to 
retire  to  a  confiderable  diftance.  Amidft  the  hur- 
ry and  confufion  of  fuch  a  fcene,  (every  one  fly- 
ing and  carrying  away  whatever  he  deemed  moil 
precious,)  two  brothers,  the  one  named  Anapias, 
the  other  Amphinomus,  in  the  height  of  their  fo- 
licitude  for  the  prefervation  of  their  wealth  and 
goods,  fuddenly  recolle&ecl  that  their  father  and 
mother,  both  very  old,  were  unable  to  fave  them- 
felves  by  flight*  Filial  tendernefs  triumphed  over 
every  other  confideration.  "  Where,"  cried  the 
generous  youths,  "  fhall  we  find  a  more  precious 
treafure,  than  they  are  who  gave  us  being,  and 
who  have  cherifhed  and  protected  us,  through 
life  ?*'  Having  faid  this,  the  one  took  up  his  father 
on  his  fhoulders,  and  the  other  his  mother,  and 
happily  made  their  way  through  the  furrounding 
fmoke  and  flames.  All  who  were  witnefies  of  this 
dutiful  and  affectionate  conduct,  were  ftruck  with 


Chap,  2.  Narrative  Pieces.  13, 

the  higheft  admiration  :  and  they  and  their  pofte- 
rity,  ever  after,  called  the  path  which  these  good 
young  men  took  in  their  retreat,  "  The  Field  of 
the  Pious." 

SECTION     II. 
Filial  sen/Utility. 

A  STRONG  inftance  of  affectionate  and  duti-r 
ful  attachment  to  parents,  has  been  related  in  the 
preceding  feftion.  The  following  difplay  of  filial 
tendernefs,  is  fcarcely  less  interfiling  and  extraor- 
dinary. 

A  young  gentleman  in  one  of  the  academies  at 
Paris,  was  remarked   for   eating  nothing  but  foup 
and  dry  bread,  and  drinking  only  water.      The  go.- 
vernor  of  the  inftitution,    attributing  this  fmgula- 
rity  to  excess  of  devotion,  reproved  his  pupil,  and 
endeavoured    to  perfuade  him  to  alter  his  rcfolu- 
tion.      Finding,  however,  that   his   remonftrances 
were  ineffeftu-.il,  he  fent  for   him    again,   and  ob- 
ferved  to  him,  that  fuch  conduct  was  highly  unbe- 
coming,   31   ''  that  it  was   his    duty  to  conform  to 
the  rules  of  the  academy.      He  then  endeavoured 
to  learn  the  reafon  of  his  pupil's  conduct :  but  as 
the  youth  con  I,!  not  be  prevailed  upon  to  impart 
the  fecret,  the  governor  at    laft  threatened  to  fend 
him  back   to   his  family.      This  menace  produced 
an  immediate  explanation  :   "  Sir,"  faid  the  young 
,   uin    my  father's    house   I  eat    nothing  but 
.<  bread,  and  of  that  very  little  :  hert  I  have 
i  foup,  and  excellent  white  bread  j  and  though 
C 


J4  Introduction)  &c.  Part  i. 

I  might,  if  I  chofe  it,  fare  luxurioufly,  I  cannot 
perfuade  myfelf  to  take  any  thing  elfe,  when  I  re- 
fled  on  the  fituation  in  which  I  have  left  my  fa- 
ther and  mother"  The  governor  was  greatly 
moved  by  this  inftance  of  filial  fenfibility,  and 
could  not  refrain  from  tears.  "  Your  father,"  faid 
he,  '*  has  been  in  the  army  ;  has  he  no  penfion  ?'* 
"  No/'  replied  the  youth:  he  has  long  been  foli- 
citing  one  ;  but,  for  want  of  money,  has  been  ob- 
liged to  give  up  the  purfuit :  and  rather  than  con- 
tract any  debts  at  Verfailles,  he  has  chofen  a  life  of 
wretchednefs  in  the  country."  "  Well,"  returned 

I  the  governor,  "if  the  facl:  is  as  you  have  repre- 
fented  it,  I  promife  to  procure  for  your  father  a 
penfion  of  five  hundred  livres  a  year.  And  fince 
your  friends  are  in  fo  reduced  circumftances,  take 
these  three  louis  d'or,  for  your  pocket  expences. 
I  will  undertake  to  remit  your  father  the  firft  half 
year  of  his  penfion,  in  advance/'  "Ah,  Sir,!" 
replied  the  youth,  "  as  you  have  the  goodnefs  to 
propofe  remitting  a  fum  of  money  to  my  father,  I 
entreat  you  to  add  to  it  thefe  three  louis  d'or.  As 
I  have  here  every  thing  I  can  wifh  for,  I  do  not 
need  them  :  but  they  would  be  of  great  use  to  my 
father  in  the  maintenance  of  his  other  children." 


Narrative  Pieces.  15 

SECTION    in. 

Cruelty  to  infecls  condemned. 

A  CERTAIN  youth  indulged  himfelf  in  the  cruel 
entertainment  of  torturing  and  killing  flies.  He 
tore  off  their  wings  and  legs,  and  then  watched  with 
pleafure  their  feeble  efforts  to  efcapc  from  him. 
Sometimes  he  collected  a  number  of  them  toge- 
ther, and  crufhed  them  at  once  to  death  \  glory- 
ing, like  many  a  celebrated  hero,  in  the  devas- 
tation he  committed.  His  tutor  remonftrated 
with  him,  in  vain,  on  this  barbarous  conduct.  He 
could  not  perfuade  him  to  believe  that  flies  are  ca- 
pable of  pain,  and  have  a  right,  no  lefs  than  our* 
felves,  to  life,  liberty,  and  enjoyment.  The  figns 
of  agony,  which,  when  tormented,  they  exprefs, 
by  the  quick  and  various  contortions  of  their  bo- 
dies, he  neither  underftood,  nor  regarded. 

The  tutor  had  a  microfcope;  and  he  defired  his 
pupil,  one  day,  to  examine  a  moft  beautiful  and 
furprifing  animal.  "  Mark/'  faid  he,  "  how  it  ' 
is  ftudded  from  head  to  tail  with  black  and  filver, 
and  its  body  all  over  befct  with  the  moft  curious 
briftles  !  The  head  contains  the  moft  lively  eyes, 
encircled  with  filver  hairs  -,  and  the  trunk  confifts 

•  wo  parts,   which  fold  over  each   other.      The 
whole  body    is   ornamented    with  plumes  and  de- 
corations, which   furpafs  all  the   luxuries  of  drefs, 
the  courts    of  the   greateft  princes. "     Pleafed 
1  aftoni flied  with    what  he  faw.  the  youth  was 
impatient  to  know  the  name  and  properties   of  this 
wonderful  animal.      It    was  withdrawn   from   the 


( 


'i  6  Introdurtion,  $9V.  Part  r, 

magnifier ;  and  when  offered  to  his  naked  eye, 
proved  to  be  a  poor  fly,  which  had  been  the  victim 
of  his  wanton  cruelty.  PERCIVAL. 

SECTION     IV. 
SelfiJJj  forrow  reproved. 

ONE  day,  during  the  fumtner  vacation,  Alexis 
had  prepared  himfelf  to  fet  out,  with  a  party  of  his 
companions,  upon  a  little  journey  of  pleafure.  But 
the  Iky  lowered,  the  clouds  gathered,  and  he  re- 
mained for  fome  time  in  anxious  fufpenfe  about  his 
expedition  j  which  at  laft  was  prevented  by  hea- 
ty  and  continued  rain.  The  difappointment  over- 
powered his  fortitude;  he  burft  into  tears  ;  lament- 
ed the  untimely  change  of  weather  ;  and  fuddenly 
refufed  all  confolation. 

In  the  evening,  the  clouds  were  difperfed  ;  the 
fun  fhone  with  unufual  brightnefs  j  and  the  face 
of  nature  feemed  to  be  renewed  in  vernal  beauty. 
Euphronius  conduced  Alexis  into  the  fields.  The 
ftorm  of  palfion  in  his  bread  was  now  flilled  ;  and 
the  ferenity  of  the  air,  the  mulic  of  the  feathered 
fongfters.  the  verdure  of  the  meadows,  andthefweet 
perfumes  which  breathed  around,  regaled  every 
fenfe,  and  filled  his  mind  with  delightful  emotions. 

<;  Do  not  you  remark,"  faid  Euphronius,  "  the 
delightful  change  which  has  fuddenly  taken  place 
in  the  whole  creation  ?  Recollecl  the  appearance  of 
the  fcene  before  us  yefterday.  The  ground  was 
then  parched  with  a  long  drought;  the  flowers  hid 
*heir  drooping  heads  j  no  fragrant  odours  were 


Ckap.  2.  Narrative  Piece:-.  17 

perceived  ;  and  vegetation  Teemed  to  ceafe.  To 
what  cauie  mud  we  impute  the  revival  of  nature  ?" 
"  To  the  rain  which  fell  this  morning/'  replied 
Alexis,  with  a  modeft  confuiion.  He  was  ftruck 
with  the  felfiihnds  and  folly  of  his  conduct  ;  and 
his  own  bitter  reflections  anticipated  the  reproofs 
of  Euphronius.  rERCivAL, 

SECTION   v . 
,ire  often  deceived  by  appearances. 

A  YOUTH,  who  lived  in  the  country,  and  who 
h.u:  i;rcd,  either  by  reading  or  converfation, 

any  knowledge  of  the  animals  which  inhabit  fo 
reiiM  ,s,  came  to  Mancheftcr,  to  fee  an  ex- 

hibition of  wild  b^-.iU'.  The  fize  and  figure  of  the 
elephant  ftruck  him  with  awe  •,  and  he  viewed  the 
rhinoceros  with  aftonilhment.  But  his  attention 
foon  withdrawn  from  thefc  animals,  and  direc- 
ted to  another,  of  the  mo  ft  elegant  and  beautiful 
form.  He  ftood  contemplating,  with  filent  admi- 
ration, the  glofly  fmoothnefs  of  his  hair  ;  the  black-* 
nefs  and  regularity  of  the  ftreaks  with  which  he 
was  marked  ;  the  fymmetry  of  his  limbs  ;  and, 
above  all,  the  placid  fweetnefs  of  his  countenance. 
"  What  is  the  name  of  this  lovely  animal,"  laid 
to  the  keeper,  "  which  you  have  placed  near  one 
of  the  uglieft  beafts  in  your  colle&ion,  as  if  you 
meant  to  contraft  beauty  with  deformity  ?"  "  Be- 
ware, young  man,"  replied  the  intelligent  keeper, 
"  of  being  fo  eaiily  captivated  with  external  ap- 
The  animal  which  you  admire,  is  call* 

C  2 


1 8  tni'ioduftion,  &5V.  Part  I. 

ed  a  tiger  :  and  notwithftanding  the  meeknefs  of 
his  looks,  he  is  fierce  and  favage  beyond  defcription. 
I  can  neither  terrify  him  by  correction,  nor  tame 
him  by  indulgence.  But  the  other  beaft,  which 
you  defpife,  is  in  the  higheft  degree  docile,  affection- 
ate, and  ufeful.  For  the  benefit  of  man,  he  tra- 
^erfes  the  fandy  deferts  of  Arabia,  where  drink 
and  pafture  are  feldom  to  be  found  ;  and  will  con- 
tinue fix  or  feven  days  without  fuftenance,  yet  ftili 
patient  of  labour.  His  hair  is  manufactured  into 
clothing  ;  his  flefh  is  deemed  wholefome  nourifh- 
ment  •,  and  the  milk  of  the  female  is  much  valued 
by  the  Arabs.  The  camel,  therefore,  for  fuch  is 
the  name  given  to  this  animal,  is  more  worthy  of 
your  admiration  than  the  tiger  5  notwithftanding 
the  inelegance  of  his  make,  and  the  two  bunches 
upon  his  back.  For  mere  external  beauty  is  of  lit- 
tle eftimation  ;  and  deformity,  when  aflbciated 
with  amiable  difpofitions  and  ufeful  qualities,  does 
iiot  preclude  our  refpecfc  and  approbation. 

PERCJVAL* 


SECTION    VI. 

• 

The  two  bees. 

ON  a  fine  morning  in  fummer,  two  bees  fet  for- 
ward in  queft  of  honey  ;  the  one  wife  and  tempe- 
rate, the  other  carelefs  and  extravagant.  They  foon 
arrived  at  a  garden  enriched  with  aromatic  herbs, 
the  moft  fragrant  flowers,  and  the  moft  delicious 
fruits.  They  regaled  tbemfelves  with  the  various 
dainties  that  were  spread  before  them  j  the  one 


Ckaf.  2.  Narrative  Piece.  19 

loaded  his  thighs  at  intervals  with  provifions  for  the 
hive  againft  the  dtftant  winter  :  the  other  revelled 
in  fvveets  without  regard  to  any  thing  but  his  pre- 
fent  gratification.  At  length  they  found  a  wide- 
mouthed  phial,  that  hung  beneath  the  bough  of  a 
peach-tree,  filled  with  honey  ready  tempered,  and 
expofed  to  their  tafte  in  the  moil  alluring  manner, 
thoughttefs  epicure,  in  fpite  of  his  friend's  re- 
monftrances,  plunged  headlong  into  the  veflel,  re- 
folving  to  indulge  himfelf  in  all  the  pleafures  of  fen- 
fuality.  His  philofophic  companion,  on  the  other 
hand,  Tipped  a  little,  with  caution  j  but,  being  fuf- 
picious  of  danger,  flew  off  to  fruits  and  flowers  ; 
where,  by  the  moderation  of  his  meals,  he  improv- 
!<.;srelifh  for  the  true  enjoyment  of  them.  In 
the  evening,  however,  he  called  upon  his  friend, 
to  inqul  ':er  he  would  return  to  the  hive: 

but  he  found  him  furfeitcd  in  fweets,  which  he  was 
as  unable  to  leave  as  to  enjoy.  Clogged  in  his 
wings,  enfeebled  in  his  feet,  and  his  whole  frame  to- 
tally enervated,  he  was  but  juftable  to  bid  his  friend 
adieu  ^  and  to  lament,  with  his  lateft  breath, — that 
though  a  tafte  of  pleafure  may  quicken  the  relifh  of 
life,  an  umvftrained  indulgence  leads  to  inevitable 
dcftrucVion.  DODSLEY. 

SECTION     VII. 

Ingenuity  and  inditftry  rewarded. 

A  RICH  hufbandman  had  two  fons,  the  one  ex- 

y  a  year  older  than  the  other.       The  very  day 

the  fecund  was  born,  he  fet  in  the  entrance  of  his 


2O  IniroduElioriy  &c.  Part  I, 

orchard,  two  young  apple-trees  of  equal  fize,  which 
he  cultivated  with  the  fame  care,  and  which  grew 
fo  equally,  that  no  perfon  could  perceive  the  lead 
difference  between  them.  When  his  children  were 
capable  of  handling  garden  tools,  he  took  them,  one 
fine  morning  in  fpring,  tafee  thefe  two  trees,  which 
he  had  planted  for  them,  and  called  after  their 
names  :  and  when  they  had  fufficiently  admired 
their  growth,  and  the  number  of  bloftbms  that  co- 
vered them,  he  faid,  "  My  dear  children,  I  give 
you  thefe  trees  :  you  fee  they  are  in  good  condi- 
tion. rRiey  will  thrive  as  much  by  your  care,  as 
they  will  decline  by  your  negligence  j  and  their 
^  ^  fruit  will  reward  you  in  proportion  to  your  labour/' 
The  youngeit,  named  Edmund,  was  induilrious 
and  attentive.  He  bulled  himfelf  in  clearing  his 
tree  of  infefts  that  would  hurt  it ;  and  he  propped 
up  its  ftem,  to  prevent  its  taking  a  wrong  bent. — 
He  loofened  the  earth  about  it,  that  the  warmth  of 
the  fun,  and  the  moisture  of  the  dews,  might  che- 
rifh  the  roots.  His  mother  had  not  tended  him 
more  carefully  in  his  infancy,  than  he  tended  his 
young  apple-tree. 

His  brother,  Mofes,  did  not  imitate  his  example. 
He  fpent  a  great  deal  of  time  on  a  mount  that  was 
near,  throwing  ftones  at  the  paflengers  in  the  road. 
He  went  among  all  the  little  dirty  country  boys  in 
the  neighbourhood,  to  box  with  them  ;  fo  that  he 
was  often  feen  with  broken  fhins  and  black  eyes, 
from  the  kicks  and  blows  he  received  in  his  quar- 
rels. In  fhort,  he  negie&ed  his  tree  fo  far,  that 
he  never  thought  of  it,  till,  one  day  in  autumn,  he, 
by  chance,  faw  Edmund's  tree  fo  full  of  apples 


.  2.  Narrative  Pieces.  2 1 

ftreaked  with  purple  and  gold,  that  had  it  not  been 
for  the  props  which  fupported  its  branches,  the 
weight  of  its  fruit  muft  have  bent  it  to  the  ground. 
Struck  with  the  fight  of  fo  fine  a  tree,  he  haften- 
ed  to  his  own,  hoping  to  find  as  large  a  crop  upon 
it :  but,  to  his  great  furprife,  he  faw  fcarcely  any 

:g  except  branches  covered  with  mofs,  and  a 
few  yellow   withered  leaves.      Full  of  paflion  and 

oufy,  he  ran  to  his  father,  and  faid  •,  "  Father, 
what  fort  of  a  tree  is  that  which  you  have  given  me? 
It  is  as  dry  as  a  broomftick ;  and  I  fhall  not  have 
ten  apples  on  it.  My  brother  you  have  ufed  better: 
bid  him  atleaft  fhare  his  apples  with  me/' — "  Share 
with  you  !"  faid  his  father  ;  "  fo  the  induftrious 
muft  lofe  his  labour,  to  feed  the  idle !  Be  fatisfied 
with  your  lot  :  it  is  the  effect  of  your  negligence; 
and  do  not  think  to  accufe  me  of  injuftice,  when 
you  fee  your  brother's  rich  crop.  Your  tree  was 
as  fruitful,  and  in  as  good  order  as  his  :  it  bore  as 
many  bloiToms,  and  grew  in  the  fame  foil,  only  it 
was  not  foftered  with  the  fame  care.  Edmund 
has  kept  his  tree  clear  of  hurtful  infects ;  bu8| 
you  have  fuffered  them  to  eat  up  yours  in  its  blof- 
foms.  As  I  do  not  choofe  to  let  any  thing  which 
God  has  given  me,  and  for  which  I  hold  myfelf 
accountable  to  him,  go  to  ruin,  I  (hall  take  this  tree 
from  you,  and  call  it  no  more  by  your  name.  It 
muft  pafs  through  your  brother's  hands,  before  it 
can  recover  itfelf ;  and  from  this  moment,  both  it 
and  the  fruit  it  may  bear  are  his  property.  You 

,  if  you  will,  go  into  my  nurfery,  and  look  for 
another  ;  and  rear  it,  to  make  amends  for  your 


22  Introduction^  &c.  Part  r. 

faults  :   but  if  you  neglecl  it,  that  too  fliall  be  given 
to  your  brother,  for  affifting  me  in  my  labour.'' 

Mofes  felt  the  juftice  of  his  father's  fentence, 
and  the  wifdom  of  his  deiign.  He  therefore  went 
that  moment  into  the  nurfery,  and  chofe  one  of 
the  mod  thriving  apple-trees  he  could  find.  Ed- 
mund aflifted  him  with  his  advice  in  rearing  it  ; 
and  Mofes  embraced  every  occafion  of  paying  at- 
tention to  it.  He  was  now  never  out  of  humour 
with  his  comrades,  and  ftill  lefs  with  himfeif  5  for 
he  applied  cheerfully  to  work  \  and  in  autumn  he 
had  the  pleafure  of  feeing  his  tree  fully  anfwer  his 
hopes.  Thus  he  had  the  double  advantage  of  en- 
riching himfelf  with  a  fplendid  crop  of  fruit ;  and, 
at  the  fame  time,  of  subduing  the  vicious  habits  he 
had  contracted. 

His  father  was  fo  well  pleafed  with  this  change, 
that,  the  following  year,  he  divided  the  produce  of 
a  fmall  orchard  between  him  and  his  brother. 

BERQJJIN. 
SECTION    VIII. 
The  fecret  of  being  always  satisfied. 

A  CERTAIN  Italian  bi (hop,  was  remarkable  for 
his  happy  and  contented  difpofltion.  He  met  with 
much  oppofition,  and  encountered  many  difficulties 
in  his  journey  through  life  :  but  it  was  obferved 
that  he  never  repined  at  his  condition,  or  betrayed 
the  leaft  degree  of  impatience.  An  intimate  friend 
of  his,  who  highly  admired  the  virtue  which  he 
thought  it  impoffible  to  imitate,  one  day  alked 


Narrative  Piece*.  2;^ 

prelate  if  he  could  communicate  the  fecret  of  being 
always  fatisfied.  "  Yes/'  replied  the  good  old  man, 
"  I  can  teach  you  my  fecret,  and  with  great  facility. 
It  confifts  in  nothing  more,  than  in  making  a  right 
ufe  of  my  eyes."  His  friend  begged  him  to  ex- 
plain himfelf.  "  Mod  willingly,''  returned  the 
bifhop.  "  In  whatever  ftate  I  am,  I  firft  of  all 
look  up  to  heaven  ;  and  reflect  that  my  principal 
bufinefs  here,  is  to  get  there.  I  then  look  down 
upon  the  earth,  and  call  to  mind  that,  when  I  am 
dead,  I  {hall  occupy  but  a  fmall  (pace  in  it..  I 
then  look  abroad  into  the  world,  and  observe  what 
multitudes  there  are,  who,  in  every  refpecl,  are  lefs 
fortunate  than  myfelf.  Thus  I  learn  where  true, 
happinefs  is  placed  ;  where  all  our  cares  muft  endy 
and  how  very  little  reafon  I  have  to  repine,  or  to 
complain." 

SECTION    IX. 

Beneficence  its  own  rewat'J. 

PIGALLE,  the  celebrated  artift,  was  a  man  of 
great  humanity.  Intending,  on  a  particular  occa- 
flon,  to  make  a  journey  from  Lyons  to  Paris,  he 
laid  by  twelve  louis-d'or  to  defray  his  expenfes.  But 
a  little  before  the  time  propofed  for  his  fetting  out, 
he  obferved  a  man  walking  with  ftrong  marks  of 
deep-felt  forrow,  in  his  countenance,  and  deport- 
ment. Pigalle,  impelled  by  the  fcrlings  of  a  be- 

olent  heart,  accofted  him,  and  inquired^  with 
cndcrnefs,  whether  it  was  in  his  power  to 

id   him  any  relief.     The  ftranger,  imprcr 


24  Introduction,   &t\  Part  ,i . 

with  the  manner  of  this  friendly  addrefs,  did  not 
hefitate  to  lay  open  his  diftreiled  fituation.  "  For 
want  of  ten  louis-d'or/'  faid  he,  "  Imuft  be  drag- 
ged this  evening  to  a  dungeon  ;  and  be  feparated 
from  a  tender  wife  and  a  numerous  family."  "  Do 
you  want  no  more  ?'J  exclaimed  the  humane  artift. 
"(  Come  along  with  me  ;  I  have  twelve  louis-d'or 
?n  my  trunk  ;  and  they  are  all  at  your  fervice." 

The  next  day  a  friend  of  Pigalle's  met  him  ;  and 
inquired  whether  it  was  true,  that  he  had,  as  was 
publickly  reported,  very  opportunely  relieved  a 
poor  man  and  his  family,  from  the  greateft  diftrefs. 
:  Ah,  my  friend  !*'  faid  Pigalle,  "  what  a  delicious 
upper  did  Imakelaft  night,  upon  bread  and  cheefe, 
a  family  whofe  tears  of  gratitude  marked  the 
goodnefs  of  their  hearts  ;  and  who  blefTed  me  at 
every  mouthful  they  eat  !" 

SECTION  x. 
The  compajfionate  judge. 

THE  celebrated  Charles  Anthony  Domat,  was 
promoted  to  the  office  of  a  judge  of  a  Provincial 
court,  in  the  fouth  of  France,  in  which  he  prefi- 
ded,  with  public  applaufe,  for  twenty-four  years. 
One  day  a  poor  widow  brought  a  complaint1  before 
him,  againft  the  baron  de  Nairac,  her  landlord,  for 
turning  her  out  of  poffeffion  of  a  farm  which  was 
her  whole  dependence.  Domat  heard  the  caufe  5 
and  finding  by  the  cleareft  evidence,  that  the  wo- 
man had  ignorantly  broken  a  covenant  in  the  leafe, 
which  empowered  the  landlord  to  take  pofleflion 


Narrative  P. 


25 


of  the  farm,  he  recommended  mercy  to  the  baron  to- 
wards a  poor  honed  tenant,  who  had  not  willingly 
tranfgreffed,  or  done  him  any  material  injury.  But 
Nairac  being  inexorable,  the  judge  was  obliged  to 
pronounce  a  fentence  of  cxpulfion  from  the  farm, 
and  to  order  payment  of  the  damages  mentioned  in 
the  leafe,  together  with  the  cofts  of  the  fuit.  In 
delivering  this  fentence,  Domat  wiped  his  eyes, 
from  which  tears  of  compaffion  Hovved  plentifully. 
When  the  order  of  feizure,  both  of  her  perfon  and 
effects,  was  decreed,  the  poor  woman  exclaimed  : 
<c  O  juft  and  righteous  God  !  be  thou  a  father  to 
the  widow  and  her  helplefs  orphan?  !"  and  imme- 
diately (lie  fainted  away.  The  compafllonate  Jtfdg£^ 
afiifted  in  raifmg  the  diftreiTed  woman  j  and  •:-.' 
inquiring  into  her  character,  the  number 
children,  and  other  circumfhmces,  gencrotifly  p 
fcnted  her  with  a  hundred  louis-d'or,  the  amount  of 
her  damages  and  coils,  which  he  prevailed  with  the 
baron  to  accept  as  a  full  recompenfe  ;  and  the  wi- 
dow was  reflored  to  her  farm.  Deeply  affect-:  .'  with 
the  generofity  of  her  benefactor,  fhe  faid  to  him  :  f 
"  O,  my  lord  !  when  will  you  demand  payment, 
that  I  may  lay  up  for  that  purpofe  ?''  "  I  will  afk 
it,"  replied  Domat,  u  when  my  confcience  fhall 
tell  me  I  have  done  an  improper  aft." 

SECTION   xi. 
The  generous  negro. 

JOSEPH  RACHEL,  a  refpectabk  negro,  redded 
lie  ifhnd  of  Barbadoes.      He  was  a  trader,  and 
D 


"^6  Introduction^  &c.  Part  i. 

dealt  chiefly  in  the  retail  way.  In  his  bufinefs,  he 
conducted  himfelf  fo  fairly  and  complaifantly,  that 
in  a  town  filled  with  little  peddling  fhops,  his  doors 
were  thronged  with  cuftomers.  I  have  often  dealt 
with  him,  and  always  found  him  remarkably  hon- 
eft  and  obliging.  If  any  one  knew  not  where  to 
obtain  an  article,  Jofeph  would  endeavour  to  pro- 
cure it,  without  making  any  advantage  for  himfelf. 
In  fhort,  his  character  was  fo  fair,  his  manners  fo 
generous,  that  the  beft  people  fhowed  him  a  regard, 
which  they  often  deny  to  men  of  their  own  colour, 
becaufe  they  are  not  blefTed  with  the  like  goodnefs 
of  heart. 

In  1756  a  fire  happened,  which  burned  down 
great  part  of  the  town,  and  ruined  many  of  the 
inhabitants.  Jofeph  lived  in  a  quarter  that  efca- 
ped  the  deftruclion  ;  and  expreffed  his  thankful- 
riefs,  by  foftening  the  diftreffes  of  his  neighbours. 
Among  thofe  who  had  loft  their  property  by  this 
heavy  misfortune,  was  a  man  to  whofe  family,  Jo- 
feph, in  the  early  part  of  his  life,  owed  fome  obli- 
gations. This  man,  by  too  great  hofpitality,  an 
excefs  very  common  in  the  Weft  Indies,  had  invol- 
ved himfelf  in  difficulties,  before  the  fire  happen- 
ed ;  and  his  eftate  lying  in  houfes,  that  event  en- 
tirely ruined  him.  Amidft  the  cries  of  mifery  and 
want,  which  excited  Jofeph's  companion,  this  man's 
unfortunate  iituation  claimed  particular  notice. — 
The  generous,  the  open  temper  of  the  fufferer.  the 
obligations  that  Jofeph  owed  to  his  family,  were 
fpecial  and  powerful  motives  for  acting  towards 
him  the  part  of  a  friend. 

Jofeph  had   his  bond  for  fixty  pounds   fterling, 


Chap.  :.  Narrative  Pieces.  27 

"  Unfortunate  man  !"  faid  he,  "  this  debt  (hall 
never  come  againft  thee.  I  fincercly  wi(h  thou 
couldft  fettle  all  thy  other  affairs  as  eaiily  !  But 
how  am  I  fure  that  I  fhall  keep  in  this  mind  ? 
May  not  the  love  of  gain,  efpecially  when,  by  length 
of  time,  thy  misfortune  fhall  become  familiar  to  me, 
return  with  too  ftrong  a  current,  and  bear  down 
my  fellow-feeling  before  it  ?  But  for  this  I  have 
a  remedy.  Never  ilr.itt  thou  apply  for  the  afliftance 
of  any  friend  againft  my  avarice."  He  arofe,  or- 
dered a  large  account  that  the  man  had  with  him, 
to  be  drawn  out:  :  and  in  a  whim,  that  might  have 
called  up  a  fmile  on  the  face  of  charity,  filled  his 
pipe,  fat  down  ftj  .he  bond,  and  lighted, 

his  pipe  with  it.  While  the  account  was  drawing 
out,  he  continued  fmoking,  in  a  ftate  cf  mind  that 
a  monarch  might  envy.  When  it  was  finiflied, 
he  went  in  fearch  of  his  friend,  with  the  difcharg- 
ed  account,  and  the  mutilated  bond,  in  his  hand. 
On  meeting  him,  he  prefcnted  the  papers  to  him 
with  this  adclrefs  •,  "  Sir,  I  am  fcnfibly  arYecled  with, 
your  misfortunes  \  the  obligations  I  have  received 
from  your  family,  give  me  a  relation  toevcry  branch 
of  it.  I  know  that  your  inability  to  pay  what  ypu 

•'ii  more  uneafinefs  than  the  lofs  of  your 

own  fubftance.      That  you  may  not  be  anxious  on 

account  in  particular,  accept  of  this  difcharge, 

and  of  your  bond.      I  am  overpaid  in 

facYion  that  I  feel,  from   having  done   my 

you  to  confidcr  this  only  as  a  token  of 
,»pin«:fs  you  will  confer  upon  me,  whenever 
put  it  in  my  power  to  do  you  a  good  office/' 

K  ATvi 


~$  Introduction,  &SV.  Part  i. 

SECTION    XII. 

21^  Indian  Chief. 

DURING  the  war  in  the  America,  a  company  of 
Indians  attacked  a  fmall  body  of  the  Britifh  troops, 
and  defeated  them.  As  the  Indians  had  greatly 
the  advantage  in  fwiftnefs  of  foot,  and  were  eager 
in  the  purfuit,  very  few  of  the  Britifh  efcaped  ; 
and  thofe  who  fell  into  their  hands,  were  treated 
with  a  cruelty,  of  which  there  are  not  many  exam- 
ples, even  in  that  country. 

Two  of  the  Indians  came  up  to  a  young  officer, 
and  attacked  him  with  great  fury.  As  they  were 
armed  with  battle-axes,  he  had  no  hope  of  efcape. 
But,  juft  at  this  crifis,  another  Indian  came  up,  who 
was  advanced  in  years,  and  was  armed  with  a  bow 
and  arrows.  The  old  man  inftantly  drew  his  bow  ; 
but,  after  having  taken  his  aim  at  the  officer,  he 
fuddenly  dropped  the  point  of  his  arrow,  and  inter- 
pofed  between  him  and  his  purfuers,  who  were  a- 
bbut  to  cut  him  in  pieces.  They,  retired  with  re- 
fpect.  The  old  man  then  took  the  officer  by  the 
hand,  foothed  him  into  confidence  by  careffes  ;  and 
having  conducted  him  to  his  hut,  treated  him  with 
a  kindefs  which  did  honour  to  his  profeffions. 

He  made  him  lefs  a  flave  than  a  companion  ; 
taught  him  the  language  of  the  country  •,  and  in- 
ilr  ufted  him  in  the  rude  arts  that  are  praftifed  by 
ihe  inhabitants.  They  lived  together  in  the  moil 
perfect  harmony  :  and  the  young  officer,  in  the 
treatment  he  met  with,  found  nothing  to  regret, 
but  that,  fometimes  the  old  man  fixed  his  eyes  upon 


Chap.   -.  Narrative  Pieces.  29 

him,  and,  having  regarded  him  for  fome  minutes 
with  a  fteady  and  illent  attention,  burft  into  tears. 
In  the  mean  time,  the  fpring  returned,  and  the 
Indians  again  took  the  field.  The  old  man,  who 
was  ftill  vigorous,  and  able  to  bear  the  fatigues  of 
war,  fet  out  with  them,  and  was  accompanied  by 
his  prifoner.  They  marched  above  two  hundred 
leagues  acrofs  the  foreft,  and  came  at  length  to 
a  plain,  where  the  iiritifh  forces  were  encamped. 
The  old  man  ihowed  his  prifoner  the  tents  at  a  dif- 
tance  :  "  There,*'  fays  he,  "  are  thy  countrymen. 
There  is  the  enemy  who  wait  to  give  us  battle.  Re- 
member that  Ihave  faved  thy  life,  that  I  have  taught 
thee  to  conduct  a  canoe,  to  arm  thyfclf  with  a  bow 
and  arrows,  and  to  furprife  the  beaver  in  the  fpr- 
eft.  What  waft  thou  when  I  firft  took  thee  to  my 
hut  ?  Thy  hands  were  thofe  of  an  infant.  They 
could  procure  thee  fuftenance  nor  fafety. — 

Thy  ibul  was  in  utter  d.irknefs.  Thou  waft  igno- 
rant <  thing.  Thou  oweft  all  things  to  me. 

thou  the:  r  to  thy  nation,  and  .take  up 

the  hatchet  again  ft  us  ?"  The  officer  replied, 
"•  that  he  would  rather  lofe  his  own  life  than  take 

that  of  his  deliverer."      The  Indian,  bending 

head,  and  covering.his  face  with  both  his 

>d  fome  time  lilent.      Then  looking  ear- 

neftly  at  his  prifoner,  he  laid,   in  a   voice  that  was 

at  once  foftened  In  aefs    and  grief;   c"'  Haft 

thou  a  father  ?''    "  My  father,"  fai;l  the  young  man, 

"  was  alive   when  I  left    my  country.1'      "  Alas  !" 

lie  Indian,    "  how  wret'  !><•  j    muft   he  be  !" — 

\uil\l  a  niom^nt,  and  then  added,  u  Doft 
thou  know  that  I  have  been  a  father  ? — I  am  a  fa* 

D2 


;,o  Introduction y  &c.  Part  i> 

ther  no  more.— -I  faw  my  fon  fall  in  battle. — He 
fought  at  my  fide. — I  faw  him  expire. — Efc  was 
covered  with  wounds,  when  he  fell  dead  at  my 
feet." 

He  pronounced  these  words  with  the  utmoft  ve- 
hemence. His  body  fhook  with  a  univerfal  tre- 
mor. He  was  almoft  ftifled  with  fighs,  which  he 
would  not  fuffer  to  efcape  him.  There  was  a  keen 
reftleflhefs  in  his  eye  ,  but  no  tears  flowed  to  his 
relief.  At  length,  he  became  calm  by  degrees  ; 
and,  turning  towards  the  eaft,  where  the  fun  had 
juft  rifen  ;  "  Doft  thou  fee,"  faid  he  to  the  young 
officer,  "  the  beauty  of  that  iky,  which  fparkles 
with  prevailing  day  ?  and  'haft  thou  pleafure  in 
the  light  ?"  **  Yes/'  replied  the  young  officer, 
"  I  have  pleafure  in  the  beauty  of  fo  fine  a  iky/' 
:t  I  have  none  I'9  faid  the  Indian,  and  his  tears  then 
found  their  way. 

A  few  minutes  after,  he  (bowed  the  young  man 
agnolia  in  full  bloom.  "  Doft  thou  fee  that 
beautiful  tree  ?"  faid  he,  "  and  doft  thou  look  up- 
on if  with  pleafure  ?"  "  Yes/5  replied  the  officer, 
"  I  look  with  pleafure  upon  that  beautiful  tree/* 
"  I  have  no  longer  any  pleafure  in  looking  upon 
it  !"  faid  the  Indian  haftily  ;  and  immediately  ad- 
ded ;  "  Go,  return  to  thy  father,  that  he  may  ftill 
have  pleafure,  when  he  sees  the  fun-  rife  in  the 
morning,  and  the  trees  bloffom  in  the  fpring  !'' 


Chaf.  Narrative  Pieces.  31 

SECTION    XIII. 

. 
•!f  behaviour  of  Scipio. 

younger,  at  twenty-four  years   of 
was  appointed  by   the  Roman  republic  to  the 
command  of  the  army  againft  the  Spaniards.    Soon 
r  the  conqueft  of  Carthagena,  the  capital  of  the 
empire,   his  and   virtue   were   put  to  the 

following  exemplary  and  ever  memorable  trial,  re- 
d  by  hiftorians,  ancient  and  modern,  with  uni- 
verlal  applaufe.    Being  retired  into  his  camp,  fome 
of  his  officers  brought  him  a  young  virgin  of  fuch 
exquifite  beauty,  that  Ihe  drew  upon  her  the  eyes 
;  admiration  of  every  body.      The  young    con- 
m  his  feat  with  confufion  and  fur- 
vied  to  be  robbed  of  that  prefence 
of  mind  and  fclf-pofieflion,  fo  necefiary  in  a  gene- 
ral, and  for  which  Scipio  was  very  remarkable.   In 
ng  recovered   himfelf,  he  in- 
quired of  the    beautiful  captive,    in  the    mod  civil 
polite  manner,  concerning  her  country,  birth, 
ons;   and  finding  that  {he  was  betroth- 
iberian  prince  named    Allucius,  he  or- 
dered both  him  and  the  captive's  parents  to  be  fent 
for.      When   the   Spanifh   prince  appeared   in  his 
Cj   Scipio    took  him  aiide  ;   and  to  remove 
the  anxiety  he  might  feel  on  account  of  the  young 
lady,  addrefled  him  in  thcfc  words  :   "  You  and  I 
are   young,   which  admits    of  my  fpeaking  to  you 
with  freedom.      They  who  brought  me  your  future 
fpoufk  allured  me  at  the  fame  time,  that  you  loved 
her  whh  extreme  tendernefs  •,  and  her  beauty  and 


3  2  Introduction)  &c.  Part  r. 

merit  left  me  no  room  to  doubt  it.  Upon  which,  I 
reflected,  that  if  I  were  in  your  fituation,  I  fhould 
hope  to  meet  with  favour  :  I  therefore  think  my- 
felf  happy  in  the  present  conjuncture  to  do  you  a 
fervice.  Though  the  fortune  of  war  has  made  me 
your  matter,  I  defire  to  be  your  friend.  Here  is 
your  wife  :  take  her,  and  may  you  be  happy  !  You 
may  reft  assured,  that  flie  has  been  amongft  us,  as 
fhe  would  have  been  in  the  houfe  of  her  father  and 
mother.  Far  be  it  from  Scipio  to  purchafe  any 
pleafure  at  the  expenfe  of  virtue,  honour,  and  the 
happinefs  of  an  honeft  man  !  No  ,  I  have  kept  her 
for  you,  in  order  to  make  you  a  prefent  worthy  of 
you  and  of  me.  The  only  gratitude  I  require  of 
you,  for  this  ineftimable  gift,  is,  that  you  will  be  a 
friend  to  the  Roman  people/'  Allucius's  heart  was 
too  full  to  make-  him  any  anfvver  •,  but,  throwing 
himfelf  at  the  general's  feet,  he  wept  aloud  :  the 
captive  lady  fell  down  in  the  fame  pofture^  and  re- 
mained fo  till  the  aged  father,  overwhelmed  7ith 
tranfports  of  joy,  burft  into  the  following  words  : 
"  O  excellent  Scipio  !  Heaven  has  given  thee  more 
than  human  virtue.  O  glorious  leader  !  O  won- 
drous youth  !  what  pleafure  could  equal  that  which 
mud  now  fill  thy  heart,  on  hearing  the  prayers  of 
this  grateful  virgin,  for  thy  health-and  profperity  ?}> 
Such  was  Scipio  •,  a  foldier,  a  youth,  a  heathen  ! 
nor  was  his  virtue  unrewarded.  Allucius,  charm- 
ed with  fuch  magnanimity,  liberality,  and  polite- 
nefs,  returned  to  his  own  country,  and  publiflied, 
on  all  occalions,  the  praifes  of  his  generous  and 
humane  victor  ;  crying  out,  "  that  there  was  come 
into  Spain  a  young  hero,  who  conquered  all  things 


'  Chap.  Narrative  Pieces.  .     -33 

leis  by  the  force   of  his  arms,  than  by  the  charms 
of  his  virtue,  and  the  greatnefs  of  his  beneficence." 

DODD. 

SECTION     XIV. 
Virtue  in  humble  ///<'. 

IN   the  preceding  fe<ftion,  we  have  feen  an  illuf- 

trious  inftance  of  virtue  in  a  perfon  of  exalted  rank. 

This  ie<Stion    exhibits  an  equally  ftr iking   example 

of  uprightnefs  in  humble  life.      Virtue   and  good- 

i  are  confined  to  no  flat  ion  :   and  wherever  they 

Hfcovered,  they  command 

Perrin,  the  amiable  fubjecl  of  this  narrative,  loft 
both  his  parents  before  he  could  articulate  their 
names,  and  was  obliged  to  a  charity-fchool  for  his  - 
education.  At  the  age  of  fifteen  he  was  hired  by 
a  farmer  to  be  a  {hi^herd,  in  a  neighbourhood 
wh  r-_*  Lucett.i  kept  her  father's  fheep.  They  of- 
ten met,  and  were  fond  of  being  together.  After 
an  acquaintance  of  five  years,  in  which  they  had 
many  opportunities  of  becoming  thoroughly  known 
to  each  other,  Terrin  propofed  to  Lucetta  to  ask 
her  father's  confent  to  their  marriage  :  (he  bluflied, 
1  did  not  refufc  her  approbation.  As  (he  had 
errand  to  the  rown  next  day,  the  opportunity  of 
her  abfl  chofen  for  making  the  propofaL 

1  You  wifli  to  marry  my  daughter,''    faid   the  old 
houfeto  cover    her,  or  money 
'.ain  her  ?   Lucctta's  fortune  is  not  enough 
',K)th.      It  will  not  do,  Perrin  ;   it  will  no.t  do.5' 
c  But/'  replied  Perrin,   "  I  have  hands  to  work  ; 


34  Introduction  ^  (3c.  Part  x. 

I  have  laid  up  twenty  crowns  of  my  wages,  which 
will  defray  the  expense  of  the  wedding  :  I  will 
work  harder  and  lay  up  more."  "  Weil/'  faid 
the  old  man,  "  you  are  young,  and  may  wait  a  lit- 
tle :  get  rich,  and  my  daughter  is  at  your  fervice." 
Perrin  waited  for  Lucetta's  return  in  the  evening. 
"  Has  my  father  given  you  a  refufal  ?"  cried  Lucet- 
ta.  "  Ah:  Lucetta,"  replied  Perrin,  u  how  unhap- 
py am  I  for  being  poor  !  But  I  have  not  loft  all 
hopes  :  my  circumftances  may  change  for  the  bet- 
ter/' As  they  never  tired  of  converfing  together, 
the  night  approached,  and  it  became  dark.  Per- 
rin, making  a  falfe  ftep,  fell  on  the  ground.  He 
found  a  bag,  which  was  heavy.  Drawing  towards 
a  light  in  the  neighbourhood,  he  difcovered  that  it 
was  filled  with  gold.  "  I  thank  heaven,"  cries 
Perrin,  in  a  tranfport  of  joy,  "  for  being  favoura- 
ble to  our  wifhes.  This  will  fatisfy  your  father, 
and  make  us  happy/'  In  their  way  to  her  father's 
house,  a  thought  flruck  Perrin.  "  This  money  is 
not  ours,  it  belongs  to  fome  ftranger  ;  and  per- 
haps this  moment  he  is  lamenting  the  lofs  of  it ; 
let  us  go  to  the  vicar  for  advice  :  he  has  always 
been  kind  to  me/'  Perrin  put  the  bag  into  the  vi- 
car's hand,  faying,  "  that  at  firft  he  looked  on  it 
as  a  providential  prefent  to  remove  the  only  obfta- 
cle  to  their  marriage  ;  but  that  he  now  doubted 
wL,  fher  he  could  lawfully  retain  it/'  The  vicar 
eyed-  the  young  couple  with  attention  :  he  admir- 
ed their  honefty,  which  appeared  even  to  fur  pa  fs 
dieir  affedlion.  "  Perrin,'7  faid  he,  "  cherifh  thefe 
timents  :  Heaven  will  blefs  you.  We  will  en- 
deavour to  find  out  the  owner  :  he  will  reward  thy 


Narrative  Pieces.  3- 

honefty.  I  will  add  what  I  can  fpare.  You  fhall 
have  Lucetta."  The  bag  was  advertifed  in  the 
newspapers,  and  cried  in  the  neighbouring  parifhes. 
Some  time  having  elapfed,  and  the  money  not  hav- 
ing been  demanded,  the  vicar  carried  it  to  Perrin. 
"  Thefe  twelve  thoufand  livres  bear  at  prefent  no 
profit  :  you  may  reap  the  intereft  at  leaft.  Lay 
them  out  in  fuch  a  manner,  as  to  enfure  the  Turn 
itfelf  to  the  owner,  if  he  fliould  ever  appear/'  A 
farm  was  pur  chafed,  and  the  confent  of  Lucetta's 
father  to  the  marriage  was  obtained.  Perrin  was 
employed  in  hufbandry,  and  Lucetta  in  family  af- 
fairs. They  lived  in  perfect  cordiality  :  and  two 
children  endeared  them  Hill  more  to  each  other. 

Perrin  one  evening,  returning  'homeward  from 
his  work,  faw  a  chaifc  overturned  witti  two  gentle- 
men in  it.  He  ran  to  their  assiftance,  and  offer- 
ed them  every  accommodation  his  fmall  houfe 
could  afford.  "This  fpot/'  cried  one  of  the  gen- 
tlemen, "  is  very  fatal  to  me.  Ten  years  ago,  I 
loft  here  twelve  thouftnd  livres/'  Perrin  liftened 
with  attention.  "  What  feareli  made  you  for 
them  ?''  faid  he.  "  It  was  not  in  my  power/'  re- 
plied the  ftranger,  "  to  make  any  fearch.  I  was 
hurrying  to  Port  1'Orient  to  embark  for  the  Indies, 

the  veiTel  was  ready  to  fail/'  M^xt  morning, 
Perrin  fhowed  to  his  guefts  his  house,  his  garden, 

cattle,  and  mentioned  the  produce  of  his  fields. 
>f  All  thefe  are  your  property/'  faid  he,  addreffing 
the  gentleman  who  had  loft  the  bag  :  "  the  money 

into  my  hands  ;   I  purchafed  this  farm  with  it ; 

yours.      The    vicar  has  an  inftrument 

.ir  property,   though    1  had  died 


36  Introduction ,  &c.  Part  I. 

without  feeing  you/3  The  ftranger  read  the  in- 
ftrument  with  emotion  :  he  looked  on  Perrin,  Lu- 
cetta,  and  the  children.  "  Where  am  I,''  cried 
he,  "  and  what  do  I  hear  :  What  virtue  in  people 
of  fo  low  a  condition  !  Have  you  any  other  land 
but  this  farm  ?"  "  No,"  replied  Perrin  ;  "  but 
you  will  have  occafion  for  a  tenant,  and  I  hope  you 
will  allow  me  to  remain  here."  "  Your  honefty 
deferves  a  better  recompense/'  anfvvered  the  flran- 
ger.  "  My  fuccefs  in  trade  has  been  great,  and  I 
have  forgotten  my  lofs.  You  are  well  entitled  to 
this  little  fortune:  keep  it  as  your  own.  What  man 
in  the  world  could  have  acted  more  nobly  than  you 
have  done  ?''  Perrin  and  Lucetta  fhed  tears  of 
affection  and  joy.  "  My  dear  children/'  faid  Per- 
rin, <c  kifs  the  hand  of  your  benefaftor. — •  Lucetta, 
this  farm  now  belongs  to  us,  and  we  can  enjoy  it 
without  anxiety  or  remorfe.''  Thus  was  honefty 
rewarded.  Let  thofe  who  deiire  the  reward  prac- 
tife  the  virtue.  DODD* 

SECTION  xv. 

The  female  choice. 

A  young  girl,  having  fatigued  herfelf  one  hot 
day,  with  running  about  the  garden,  fat  down  in  a 
pleafant  arbour,  where  fhe  prefently  fell  afleep. 
During  her  ilumber,  two  female  figures  prefented 
themfelves  before  her.  One  was  loosely  habited 
in  a  thin  robe  of  pink,  with  light  green  trimmings. 
Her  fafti  of  iiiver  gauze  flowed  to  the  ground.- 
Her  fair  hair  fell  in  ringlets  down  her  neck  \  and 


Narrative  Pieces.  37 

her  head-drefs  coniifted  of  artificial  flowers  inter- 
woven with  feathers.  She  held  in  one  hand  a  ball 
ticket,  and  in  the  other  a  fancy  drefs  all  covered 
\vith  fpanglcs  and  knots  of  gay  ribbon.  She  ad- 
vanced imiling  to  the  girl,  and  with  a  familiar  air 
thus  addrefsed  her. 

•ly  deareft  Meliffa,  I  am  a  kind  genius  who 
have  watched  you  from  your  birth,  and  have  joy- 
fully behelu  all  your  beauties  expand,  till  at  length 
they  have  rendered  you  a  companion  worthy  of 
me.  See  what  I  have  brought  you.  This  drefs 
and  this  ticket  will  give  you  free  accefs  to  all 
the  ravifliing  delights  of  my  palace.  With  me  you 
will  pafs  your  days  in  a  perpetual  round  of  ever- 
amufements.  Like  the  gay  butterfly,  you 
will  have  no  other  bufmefs  than  to  flutter  from 
flower  to  flower,  and  fpread  your  charms  before  ad- 
miring fpe&ators.  No  reftraints,  no  toils,  no  dull 
tafks,  are  to  be  found  within  my  happy  domains. 
All  is  pleafure,  life,  and  good  humour.  Come 
then,  my  dear  !  Let  me  put  you  on  this  drefs, 
which  will  make  you  quite  enchanting  ;  and  away, 
away  with  me  !'' 

Mel  ftrong  inclination  to  comply   with 

the  call  of  this  inviting  nymph  ;  butf  ftfhe  thought 
it  would  be  prudent  at  lead  to  aik  he/  name. 
"  Myname,"faid  ihe,   *•'  is  DISSIPATION.*' 
The  other   female    then    advanced.      She 
clothed  in  a  clofe  habit  of  brown  fluff,  limply   re- 
lieved with  white.      She  wore  her  fmooth  hair  un- 
der a  plain  cap.      Her  whole  perfon   was  perfectly 
in.      Her  look  was  ferious,  but  satif- 
;  and  her  air  was  {laid  and  compofed.      She 
E 


3  8  Introduction  >  &c.  Part  I. 

held  in  one  hand  a  distaff;'  on  the  oppofite  arm 
hung  a  work-balket  ;  and  the  girdle  round  her 
waift  was  garnifhed  with  fciffors,  knitting  needles, 
reels,  and  other  -implements  of  female  labour.  A 
bunch  of  keys  hung  at  her  fide.  She  thus  ac- 
cofted  the  fleeping  girl. 

"  Meliffa,  I  am  the  genius  who  have  ever  been 
the  friend  and  companion  of  your  motherland 
I  now  offer  you  my  protection.  I  have  no  allure- 
ments to  tempt  you  with  like  thofe  of  my  gay  ri- 
val. Inftead  of  fpending  all  your  time  in  amufe- 
ments,  if  you  enter  yourfelf  of  my  train,  you  mud 
rife  early,  and  pafs  the  long  day  in  a  variety  of  em- 
ployments, fome  of  them  difficult,  fome  laborious, 
and  all  requiring  exertion  of  body  or  of  mind.  You 
muft  drefs  plainly  ;  live  moftly  at  home  ,  and  aim 
at  being  ufeful  rather  than  fhining.  But  in  return, 
I  will  infure  you  content,  even  fpirits,  felf-approba- 
tion,  and  the  efteetn  of  all  who  thoroughly  know 
you.  Ifthefe  offers  appear  to  your  young  mind 
lefs  inviting  than  thofe  of  my  rival,  be  afliired, 
however,  that  they  are  more  real.  She  has  pro- 
mifed  much  more  than  flie  can  ever  make  good. 
Perpetual  pleafures  are  no  more  in  the  power  of 
Diffipation,  than  of  Vice  and  Folly,  to  beftow.  Her 
delights  quickly  pall,  and  are  inevitably  fucceeded 
by  languor  and  difguft.  She  appears  to  you  under 
a  difguife,  and  what  you  fee  is  not  her  real  face. 
For  myfelf,  I  {hall  never  feem  to  you  lefs  amiable 
than  I  now  do  ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  you  will  like 
me  better  and  better.  If  I  look  grave  to  you  now, 
you  will  fee  me  cheerful  at  my  work  ;  and  when 
work  is  over,  I  can  enjoy  every  Innocent  amufement. 


Chap.  2.  Narrative  Pieces.  39 

But  I  have  faid  enough.  It  is  time  for  you  to  choofe 
whom  you  will  follow,  and  upon  that  choice  all  your 
happinefs  depends.  If  you  would  know  my  name, 
it  is  no  u  SEW i  FERY." 

Me  lift  a  heard  her  with  more  attention  than  de- 
light \   and  though  overawed  by  her    manner,    fhe 
could  not  help  turning  again  to  take    another  look 
at  the  fir  ft  fpeakcr.      She  beheld  her   ftill  offering 
her  presents  with  io  bewitching  an  air,  that  fhe  felt 
it  fcarcely  pofiible  to  refill:  ;   when,  by  a  lucky  ac- 
urafk  with  which  Diflipation's  face  was 
rt fully   covered,  fell  off.       A:   foon    as  MeliiTa 
beheld,  inftead  of    the    fmiling  features  of    you.th 
countenance  wan   and  ghaftly 
with  ficknefs,  and  foured  by  fretfulnefs,  (he  turned 
y  with  horror,  and   gave  her  hand  unreluclant- 
>  her  fobcr  and  rincere  companion. 

B ARB AU  LD. 
XVI. 
The  nolle  lasket-wah'r. 

jrmans  of  rank  and  fortune,   were  for- 
merly remarkable  for  the  tiiftom  of  having  their 
isinftrufted  in  fome mechanical  bufmefs, by  which 
they  might  be    habituated   to  a  fpirit  of  induftry  ; 
lecured  from  the  miseries  of  idlenefs;  and  qualified, 
of  neceflity,  to  fupport  themfelves  and  their 
/ilies.    A  ftriking  proof  of  the  utility  of  this  cuf- 
1,  occurs  in  the  following  narrative.      A   young 
rman  nobleman  of  great  merit  and  talents,  paid 
s  to  an  accomplished  young  lady  of 


40  Introduction,  &V.  4  Part  I. 

Palatinate  ;  and  applied  to  her  father  for  his  con- 
fent  to  marry  her.  The  old  nobleman,  arnongft 
other  obfervations,  afked  him,  "  how  he  expected 
to  maintain  his  daughter/'  The  young  man,  sur- 
prifed  at  fuch  a  queftion,  obferved,  "  that  his  pof- 
feilions  were  known  to  be  ample,  and  as  fecure  as 
the  honours  of  his  family/'  u  All  this  is  very 
true/'  replied  the  father ;  "but  you  well  know, 
that  our  country  has  fuffered  much  from  wars  and 
devaluation  ;  and  that  new  events  of  this  nature 
may  fweep  away  all  your  eftate,  and'render  you  des- 
titute. To  keep  you  no  longer  in  suspense,  (con- 
tinued the  father,  with  great  politenefs  and  affec- 
tion,) I  have  ferioufly  refolved  never  to  marry  my 
daughter  to  any  perfon^  who,  whatever  may  be  his 
honours  or  property,  does  not  pofTefs  fome  mechan- 
ical art,  by  which  he  may  be  able  to  fupport  her 
in  cafe  of  unforefeen  events/'  The  young  noble- 
man, deeply  affected  with  his  determination,  was 
filent  for  a  few  minutes  ;  when,  recovering  him- 
felf,  he  declared,  "  that  he  believed  his  happinefs 
•ib  much  depended  on  the  propofed  union,  that  no 
difficulty  or  fubmiffions,  confident  with  his  honour, 
ihould  prevent  him  from  endeavouring  to  accom- 
pi  hli  it/'  He  begge>d  to  know  whether  he  might 
be  allowed  fix  months  to  acquire  the  knowledge  of 
fome  manual  art.  The  father,  pleafed  with  the 
voung  man's  refolution,  and  affection  for  his  daugh- 
ter, confented  to  the  propofal  ;  and  pledged  his 
honour  that  the  marriage  fhould  take  place,  if,  at 
the  expiration  of  the  time  limited,  he  fhould  fuc- 
eeed  in  his  undertaking. 

Animated u*  the  tendered  regard,  and  by  a  high 


Narrative  P^  41 

fenfe  of  the  happinefs  he  hoped  to  enjoy,  he  went 
immediately  into  Flanders,  engaged  himfelf  to  a 
white  twig  bafket-maker,  and  applied  every  power 
of  ingenuity  and  induftry  to  become  {killed  in  the 
bufinefs.  He  foon  obtained  a  complete  knowledge 
of  the  art;  and,  before  the  expiration  of  the  time 
propofed,  returned,  and  brought  with  him,  as  fpe- 
cimens  of  his  fkill,  ieveral  baikets  adapted  to  fruit, 
flowers,  and  needle-work.  Thefe  were  prefented 
to  the  young  lady;  and  univerfally  admired  for  the 
delicacy  and  perfection  of  the  workmanfhip.  No- 
thing now  remained  to  prevent  the  accomplifh- 
ment  of  the  noble  youth's  willies:  and  the  marriage 
was  folemnized  to  the  flit  is  faction  of  all  parties. 

The  young  couple  had  lived  ieveral  years  in  afflu- 
ence ;   a  J,  by  their  virtues  and  moderation^ 
to  have  fecured  the   favours  of  fortune.      But  the 
ai  length,   extended  themfelves  to 
Palatinate.      Both   the    families   were  driven 
from  their  country,    and   their    eftates    forfeited. 
And  now   o;  ;oft    interfiling  fcene.      The 
commenced  his   trade  of  bafket- 
m^king;   and  by  his  fuperior  ikill  in  the  art,  fbon 
nilve   builnefs.      For  many  years, 
liberally  fupported,   not  only   his  own  family, 
but  alfo  that  of  the  good  old  nobleman,   his  father- 
in-law:   and  enjoyed   the   high  fatisfaclion  of  con- 
tributing  by   his  own    induftry,   to    the  happinefs 
•.-;nnexions  doubly  endeared  to  him  by  their  mis- 
fortunes; and  who  otherwife  would  have  funk  into 
jet  and  indigence,   fharpcned 
iembrance  of  better  days. 
E  2 


(      42      ) 
CHAPTER  III. 

DIDACTIC     PIECES. 


SECTION     I. 

Tendernefs  to  mothers. 

iVlARK  that  parent  hen,  .faid  a  father  to  his  be- 
loved fon.  With  what  anxious  care  does  fhe  call 
together  her  offspring,  and  cover  them  with  her 
expanded  wings  !  The  kite  is  hovering  in  the  air, 
and,  difappointed  of  his  prey,  may  perhaps  dart 
upon  the  hen  herfelf,  and  bear  her  off  in  his 
talons. 

Does  not  this  fight  fuggeft  to  you  the  tender- 
nefs  and  afFe&ion  of  your  mother!  Her  watchful 
care  protected  you  in  the  helplefs  period  of  in- 
fancy, when  fhe  nourifhed  you  with  her  milk, 
taught  your  limbs  to  move,  and  your  tongue  to 
lifp  its  unformed  accents.  In  your  childhood,  fhe 
mourned  over  your  little  griefs-,  rejoiced  in  your 
innocent  delights-,  adminiftered  to  you  the  healing 
balm  in  ficknefs-,  and  inftilled  into  your  mind  the 
love  of  truth,  of  virtue,  and  of  wifdom.  Oh  ! 
cherifli  every  fentiment  of  refpecl  for  fuch  a  mo- 
ther. She  merits  your  warmeft  gratitude,  efteem, 
and  veneration.  PERCIVAL. 


Chap.  3  •  Didaftic  Pi  fees.  4-3 


SECTION     II. 

RefpcEl  and  nffeftion  due  from  pupils  to  their  tutors. 

QUINCTILIAN  fays,  that  he  has  included  al- 
inoft  all  the  duty  of  fcholars  in  this  one  piece  of 

-ce  which  he  gives  them; — to  love  thofe  who 
inftruct  them,  as  they  love  the  fciences  which  they 
ftudy ;  and  to  look  upon  them  as  fathers  from  whom 
they  derive  not  the  life  of  the  body,  but  that  in- 
flruction  which  is  in  a  manner  the  life  of  the  foul. 
This  fentiment  of  affection  and  refpect  difpofes 
them  to  apply  diligently  during  the  time  of  their 
ftudies;  and  preierves  in  their  minds,  during  the 
remainder  of  life,  a  tender  gratitude  towards  their 
inftructers.  It  ieems  to  include  a  great  part  of 
what  is  to  be  expected  from  them. 

Docility,  which  coniifts  in  readily  receiving  in- 
ftrucTions,  and  reducing  them  to  practice,  is  pro- 
perly the  virtue  of  fcholars,  as  that  of  matters  is 
to  teach  well.  As  it  is  not  fufficicnt  for  a  labourer 
to  fow  the  feed,  unlefs  the  earth,  after  having 
opened  its  bofom  to  receive  it,  warms  and  moiftens 
it  j  fo  the  whole  fruit  of  inftruclion  depends  upon  a 
good  correfpondence  between  mafters  and  fcholars. 

Gratitude  towards  thofe  who  have  faithfully  la- 
boured in  our  education,  is  an  eflential  virtue,  and 
the  mark  of  a  good  heart.  "  Of  thofe  who  have 
been  carefully  inftrnctcd,  who  is  there,"  fays  Cicero, 
i(  that  is  not  delighted  with  the  fight,  and  even  the 
.embrancc  of  his  preceptors,  and  the  very  place 
where  he  was  educated  ?"  Seneca  exhorts  young 


44  lutroduftwri)  (3c\  Part  I. 

men  to  preferve  always  a  great  refpect  for  their 
matters,  to  whofe  care  they  are  indebted  for  the 
amendment  of  their  faults,  and  for  having  imbibed 
fentiments  of  honour  and  probity.  Their  exact- 
nefs  and  feverity  ibrnetimes  difpleafe,  at  an  age 
when  we  are  not  in  a  condition  to  judge  of  the  obli- 
gations we  owe  them;  but  when  years  have  ripened 
our  under  ftanding  and  judgment,  we  difcern  that 
admonitions,  reprimands,  and  a  fevere  exadlneis 
in  reftraining  the  paffions  of  an  imprudent  and  iri- 
confiderate  age,  far  from  juftifying  diflike,  de- 
mand our  eileem  and  love.  Marcus  Aurelius,  one 
of  the  wifeft  and  moft  illuftrious  emperors  that 
Rome  ever  had,  thanked  Heaven  for  two  things 
efpecially  ; — for  having  had  excellent  tutors  him- 
felf ;  and  for  having  found  the  like  blefling  for  his 
children-  ROLLINV 

SECTION     III. 
On  filial  piety* 

FROM  the  creatures  of  God  let  man  learn  wis- 
dom, and  apply  to  himfelf  the  inftruclion  they 
give.  Go  to  the  defert,  my  fon:  obferve  the 
young  ftork  of  the  wildernefs;  let  him  fpeak  to 
thy  heart.  He  bears  on  his  wings  his  aged  fire; 
he  lodges  him  in  fafety,  and  fupplies  him  with 
food. 

The  piety  of  a  child  is  fweeter  than  the  incenfe 
of  Perfia  offered  to  the  fun;   yea,   more  delicious 
than  odours  wafted  from  a  field  of  Arabian  fpices,  ' 
by  the  weftern  gales. 


Didafiw  Pieces.  45 

Be  grateful  to  thy  father,  for  he  gave  thee  life  ; 
and  to  thy  mother,  for  ihe  futtained  thee.  Hear 
the  words  of  their  mouth,  for  they  are  fpoken  for 
thy  good;  give  ear  to  their  admonition,  for  it 
proceeds  from  love. 

Thy  father  has  watched  for  thy  welfare,  he  has 
for  thy  eafe:  do  honour,  therefore,  to  his  age, 


let  not  his  gray  hairs  be  treated  with  irreverence. 
Forget  not  thy  helplefs  infancy,  nor  the  froward- 
nefs  of  thy  youth;  and  bear  with  the  infirmities  of 
thy  aged  parents:  affift  and  fupport  them  in  the 
decline  of  life.  So  (hall  their  hoary  heads  go 
down  to  the  grave  in  peace:  and  thy  own  children, 
in  reverence  of  thy  example,  (hall  repay  thy  piety 
with  filial  love.  ECONOMY  OF  HUM.  LIFE. 


SECTION     IV. 
Love  between  brothers  and  Jtjlcrs. 

You  are  the  children  of  one  father,  provided  for 
by  his  care;  and  the  brcaft  of  one  mother  gave 
you  fuck.  Let  the  bonds  of  affection,  therefore, 
unite  thee  with  thy  brothers  and  fitters,  that  peace 
and  happincfs  may  dwell  in  thy  father's  houfe. 

And  when  you  are  feparatcd  in  the  world,  re- 
member the  relation  that  binds  you  to  love  and 
unity;  and  prefer  not  a  ttranger  before  thy  own 
blood.  If  thy  brother  is  in  ndverfity,  afiift  him; 
if  thy  fitter  is  in  trouble,  forfake  her  not.  So 
/hall  the  fortunes  of  thy  father  contribute  to  the 
fupport  of  his  whole  race  ;  and  his  care  be  con- 
tinued to  you  all,  in  your  love  to  each  other. 

ECONOMY    OF   HUM,    LIFE. 


Introduction)  (3c.  Part 


SECTION     V, 

"Benevolence. 

WHEN  tliou  confidereft  thy  wants,  when  thou 
beholdeft  thy  imperfeftions,  acknowledge  his 
goodnefs,  O  Ton  of  humanity!  who  honoured  thee 
with  reafon;  endued  thee  with  fpeechj  and  placed 
thee  in  fociety,  to  receive  and  confer  reciprocal 
helps  and  mutual  obligations.  Thy  food,  thy 
clothing,  thy  convenience  of  habitation-,  thy  pro- 
tection from  the  injuries,  thy  enjoyment  of  the 
comforts  and  the  pleafures  of  life :  all  thefe  thou 
oweft  to  the  affiftance  of  others,  and  couldft  not 
enjoy  but  in  the  bands  of  fociety.  It  is  thy  duty, 
therefore,  to  be  a  friend  to  mankind,  as  it  is  thy 
intereft  that  man  fhould  be  friendly  to  thee. 

Rejoice  in  the  happinefs  and  profperity  of  thy 
neighbour.  Open  not  thy  ear  to  ilander :  the 
faults  and  failings  of  men  give  pain  to  a  bene- 
volent heart.  Defire  to  do  good,  and  iearch  out 
occaiions  for  it ;  in  removing  the  oppreflion  of 
another,  the  virtuous  mind  relieves  itielf. 

Shut  not  thine  ear  .againft  the  cries  of  the  poor; 
nor  harden  thy  heart  againft  the  calamities  of  the 
innocent.  When  the  fatherlefs  call  upon  thee, 
when  the  widow's  heart  is  funk,  and  flie  implores 
thy  afliftance  with  tears' of  forrow;  pity  their  afflic- 
tion, and  extend  thy  hand  to  thofe  who  have  none 
to  help  them.  When  thou  i'eeft  the  naked  wan- 
derer of  the  ftreet,  fhivering  with  cold,  and  defti- 
tute  of  habitation,  let  bounty  open  thy  heart \  let 


Chap.   3.  Didatlic  Pieces.  47 

the  wings  of  charity  fhelter  him  from  death,  that 
thy  own  foul  may  live.  Whilft  the  poor  man 
groans  on  the  bed  of  ficknefs,  whilft  the  unfortu- 
nate languish  in  the  horrors  of  a  dungeon  ;  or  the 
hoary  head  of  age  lifts  up  a  feeble  eye  to  thee  for 
pity  •,  how  canit  thou  riot  in  fuperfluous  enjoy- 
ments, regardlefs  of  their  wants,  unfeeling  of  their 

WOes  ?  ECONOMY   OF   HUM.    LIFE. 

SECTION    VI. 

•Ingratitude  to  our  Supreme  Benefactor,   is  kigkly 
culf.  i 

ARTABANES  was  diftinguifhed  with  peculiar  fa- 
vour by  a  wife,  powerful,  and  good  prince.  A 
magnificent  palace,  furroundcd  with  a  delightful 
garden,  was  provided  for  his  refidence.  He  par- 
took of  all  the  luxuries  of  his  fovereign's  table,  was 
inverted  with  extenfive  authority,  and  admitted  to 
the  honour  of  a  free  intercourfe  with  his  gracious 
mafter.  But  Artabanes  was  infenfible  of  the  ad- 
vantages which  he  enjoyed ;  his  heart  glowed  not 
with  gratitude  and  refpect;  he  avoided  the  fociety 
of  his  benefactor,  and  abufed  his  bounty.  "  I 
deteft  fuch  a  character/'  faici  Alexis,  with  gene- 
rous indignation  ! — "  It  is  your  own  picture  which 
I  have  drawn,"  replied  Euphronius.  "  The  great 
Potentate  of  heaven  and  earth  has  placed  you  in  a 
world,  which  difplays  the  higheft  beauty,  order, 
and  magnificence;  and  which  abounds  with  every 
means  of  convenience,  enjoyment,  and  happinefs. 
furnifhed.  you  with  fuch  powers  of  body 


4&  Introduction  j  &V.  Part  i, 

and  mind,  as  give  you  dominion  over  the  fifhes  of 
the  fea,  the  fowls  of  the  air,  and  the  beafts  of  the 
field.  He  has  invited  you  to  hold  communion 
with  him,  and  to  exalt  your  own  nature,  by  the 
love  and  imitation  of  his  divine  perfections.  Yet 
have  your  eyes  wandered,  with  brutal  gaze,  over 
the  fair  creation,  unconfcious  of  the  mighty  hand 
from  which  it  fprung.  You  have  rioted  in  the 
profufion  of  nature,  without  fuitable  emotions  of 
gratitude  to  the  Sovereign  Difpenfer  of  all  good; 
and  you  have  too  often  flighted  the  glorious  con- 
verfe,  and  forgotten  the  prefence  of  that  Omnipo- 
tent Being,  who  fills  all  fpace,  and  exifts  through 
all  eternity.  PERCIVAL. 

SECTION     VII. 
Speculation  and  praftice. 

A  CERTAIN  aftronomer  was  contemplating  the 
moon  through  his  telefcope,  and  tracing  the  extent 
of  her  feas,  the  height  of  her  mountains,  and  the 
number  of  habitable  territories  which  flie  contains. 
"  Let  him  fpy  what  he  pleafes,"  faid  a  clown  to 
his  companion  •,  "  he  is  not  nearer  to  the  moon 
than  we  are." 

Shall  the  fame  obfervation  be  made  of  you, 
Alexis  ?  Do  you  furpafs  others  in  learning,  and 
yet  in  goodnefs  remain  upon  a  level  with  the  un- 
inftrucled  vulgar  ?  Have  you  fo  long  gazed  at  the 
temple  of  virtue,  without  advancing  one  ftep  to- 
wards it  ?  Are  you  fmitten  with  moral  beauty,  yet 
regardlefs  of  its  attainment  ?  Are  you  a  philofopher 


Chap.  3.  Didaftic  Pieces.  49 

in  theory,  but  a  novice  in  practice  ?  The  partiality 
of  a  father  inclines  me  to  hope,  that  the  reverfe  is 
true.  I  flatter  myfelf,  that  by  having  learned  to 
think,  you  will  be  qualified  to  aft  ;  and  that  the 
rectitude  of  your  conduct  will  be  adequate  to  your 
improvements  in  knowledge.  May  that  wifdom 
which  is  juftified  in  her  works,  be  your  guide 
through  life  !  And  may  you  enjoy  all  the  felicity 
which  flows  from  a  cultivated  underftanding,  pious 
and  well-regulated  affections,  and  extenfive  benevo- 
lence !  In  thefe  confifts  that  fovereign  good,  which 
ancient  fages  fo  much  extol ;  which  reafon  recom- 
mends, religion  authorizes,  and  God  approves. 

P  E  R  C  I  V  A  I, ; 


CHAPTER  IV. 

DESCRIPTIVE     PIECES. 

SECTION    I. 
The   Eagle. 

i.  HE  Golden  Eagle  is  the  largeft  and  the  nobleft 
.,of  all  thofe  birds  that  have  received  the  name 
of  Eagle.  It  weighs  above  twelve  pounds.  Its 
length  is  three  feet ;  the  extent  of  its  wings,  feven 
feet  four  inches  •,  the  bill  is  three  inches  long,  and 
of  a  deep  blue  ,  and  the  eye  of  a  hazel  colour.  In 
general,  thefe  birds  are  found  in  mountainous  and 
thinly  inhabited  countries  ;  and  breed  among  the 
loftieft  cliffs.  They  choofe  thofe  places  which  are 
remoteft  from  man,  upon  whofe  poiTeffions  they  but 
ieldom  make  their  depredations,  being  contented 
rather  to  follow  the  wild  game  in  the  foreft,  than 
to  rilk  their  fafety  to  fatisfy  their  hunger. 

This  fierce  animal  may  be  considered  among 
birds,  as  the  lion  among  quadrupeds  ;  and  in  many 
refpefts,  they  have  a  ftrong  flmilitude  to  each 
other.  They  are  both  poffeffed  of  force,  and  an 
empire  over  their  fellows  of  the  foreft.  Equally 
magnanimous,  they  difdain  fmall  plunder;  and 
'only  purfue  animals  worthy  the  conqueft.  It  is 
.not  till  afuer  having  been  long  provoked,  by  the 
cries  of  the  rook  or  the  magpie,  that  this  generous 


Chap.  4.  Defcriptive  Pieces.  5* 

bird  thinks  fit  to  punifh  them  with  death.  The 
eagle  alfo  difdains  to  (hare  the  plunder  of  another 
bird;  and  will  take  up  with  no  other  prey  than  that 
which  he  has  acquired  by  his  own  puriiiits.  How 
hungry  ibever  he  may  be,  he  iloops  not  to  carrion; 
and  when  fatiatecl,  never  returns  to  the  lame  cur- 
cafs,  but  leaves  it  for  other  animals,  more  rapacious 
and  lefs  deli  i  himfjlf.  Solitary,  like  the 

lion,    he  ke;  :  to  himfclf  u'o<ie;    it  is  as 

extraordinary  to  pair  of  e;u>-!"s  in  the  fame 

mountain,    as  two  lions  in  tlv  rdr..      They 

pie  iupply  ;   and 

conlider   the    quantity    of  the  bed 

proof  of  their 
of  th  ipark- 

ling  eyes,  and  nearly  of  the  fame  colour;  their 
claws  are  of  the  fame  form,  their  breath  equally 
Arong,  and  their  cry  equally  loud  and  terrifying. 
Bred  both  for  war,  they  arc  enemies  of  all  fociety; 
alike  fierce,  proud,  and  incapable  of  being  eafily 
tamed. 

Of  all  the  feathered  tribe,  the  eagle  flies  higher!  j 
and  from  thence  the  ancients  have  given  him  the 
title  of  the  bird  of  heaven.      He   poffefles  alfo  the 
;    but  his   fenfe   of  fmelling,   though 
acute,   is  inferior  to  that  of  a  vulture.      He  never 
^ut  when  his  object:  is  in  view  ;   and  hav- 
I  his  prey,    he  {loops  from  his  height,   as 
if  to   examine  its  weight,   always  laying  it  on   the 
ground  before  he  carries  it   off.      He  finds  no  dif- 
ficulty in   taking   up   geefe   and    cranes.      He  alfo 
carries   away   hares,   lambs,   and   kids;   and    often 
•vs  fawns   and  calves,  to  drink  their  blood  ; 


52  IntroduEliony  &c.  Part  i. 

and  bears  a  part  of  their  flefh  to  his  retreat.  In- 
fants themfelves,  when  left  unattended,  have  been 
deftroyed  by  thefe  rapacious  creatures.  An  in- 
ftance  is  recorded  in  Scotland,  of  two  children 
having  been  carried  off  by  eagles,  but  fortunately 
they  received  no  hurt  by  the  way ;  and,  the  eagles 
being  purfued,  the  children  were  found  unhurt  in 
the  nefts,  and  reftored  to  the  affrighted  parents. 

The  eagle  is  thus  at  all  times  a  formidable 
neighbour;  but  peculiarly  fo  when  bringing  up  its 
young.  It  is  then  that  the  male  and  female  exert 
all  their  force  and  incluftry  to  fupply  their  off- 
fpring.  Smith,  in  his  hiftory  of  Kerry,  relates, 
that  a  poor  man  in  that  country  got  a  comfortable 
fubfiftencc  for  his  family,  during  a  fummer  of  fa- 
mine, out  of  an  eagle's  neft,  by  robbing  the  eaglets 
of  food,  which  was  plentifully  fnpplied  by  the  old 
ones.  He  protracted  their  affiduity  beyond  the 
ufual  time,  by  clipping  the  wings,  and  retarding 
the  flight  of  the  young  5  and  very  probably  alfo, 
as  I  have  known  myfelf,  by  fo  tying  them  as  to 
increafe  their  cries,  which  are  always  found  to  in- 
creafe  the  parent's  dcfpatch  to  procure  them  pro- 
viilon.  It  was  fortunate,  however,  that  the  old 
eagles  did  not  furprife  the  countryman  thus  em- 
ployed, as  their  refentment  might  have  been 
tiongerous. 

It  requires  great  patience  and  much  art  to  tame 
an  eagle;  and  even  though  taken  young,  and 
fubdued  by  long  affiduity,  yet  it  is  a  dangerous 
domeftic,  and  often  turns  its  force  againft  its  mafter. 
When  brought  into  the  field  for  the  purpofes  of 
fowling,  the  falconer  is  never  fure  of  its  attach- 


•'.  4.  Dycriptiw  Pieces,  53 

ment:  its  innate  pride,  and  love  of  liberty,  ftill 
prompt  it  to  regain  its  native  iblitudes.  Some- 
times, however,  eagles  are  brought  to  have  an 
attachment  to  their  feeder :  they  are  then  highly 
ferviceable,  and  liberally  provide  for  his  pleafures 
and  iupport.  When  the  falconer  lets  them  go 
from  his  hand,  they  play  about  and  hover  round 
him  till  their  game  prcfents,  which  they  fee  at  an 
immenfe  diftance,  and  purfue  with  certain  de- 
ftruction. 

It  is  faid  that  the  eagle  can  live  many  weeks 
without  food  ;  nnd  that  the  period  of  its  life  ex- 
ceeds a  hundred  years.  GOLDSMITH. 


SECTION      II. 

The  humming-bird. 

OF  all  the  birds  that  flutter  in  the  garden,  oc 
paint  the  lanclfcape,  the  humming-bird  is  the  moil 

:. 'lit  ful  to  look  upon,  and  the  moft  inoffenfive. 
Of  this  charming  little  animal,  there  are  fix  or 

:n  varieties,  from  the  fize  of  a  fmall  wren, 
down  to  that  of  an  humble-bee.  A  European 
would  not  readily  fuppofe  that  there  exifted  any 
birds  fo  very  fmall,  and  yet  fo  completely  furniilied 
with  a  bill,  feathers,  wings,  and  inteftines,  exactly 
refembling  thofe  of  the  largeft  kind.  Birds  not  fo 
big  as  the  end  of  one's  little  finger,  would  proba- 
fuppofed  mere  creatures  of  imagination, 
were  they  not  feen  in  infinite  numbers,  and  as  fre- 

at  as  butterflies  in  a  fummer's-day?  fporting  in 
F  * 


54  Introduction )  &c.  Part  r. 

the  fields  of  America,  from  flower  to  flower,  and 
extracting  fweets  with  their  little  bills. 

The  fmaileft  humming-bird  is  about  the  fize  of 
a  hazel-nut.  The  feathers  on  its  wings  and  tail  are 
black j  but  thofe  on  its  body,  and  under  its  wings, 
are  of  a  greeniih  brown,  with  a  fine  red  caft  or 
glofs,  which  no  filk  or  velvet  can  imitate.  It  has 
a  fmall  creft  on  its  head,  green  at  the  bottom,  and 
as  it  were  gilded  at  the  top  ;  and  which  fparkles  in 
the  fun  like  a  little  ftar  in  the  middle  of  its  fore- 
head. The  bill  is  black,  ftraight,  fleecier,  and  of 
the  length  of  a  fmall  pin. 

It  is  inconceivable  how  much  thefe  birds  add  to 
the  high  finifhing  and  beauty  of  a  rich  luxurious 
weftern  iandfcape.  As  foon  as  the  fun  is  rifen, 
the  humming-birds,  of  different  kinds,  are  feen 
fluttering  about  the  flowers,  without  ever  lighting 
upon  them.  Their  wings  are  in  fuch  rapid  motion, 
that  it  is  impoffible  to  difcern  their  colours,  except 
by  their  glittering.  They  are  never  ftil),  but 
continually  in  motion,  vifiting  flower  after  flower, 
and  extracting  its  honey  as  if  with  a  kifs.  For 
this  purpofe  they  are  furnifhed  with  a  forky  tongue, 
that  enters  the  cup  of  the  flower,  and*  extracts 
its  ne&ared  tribute.  Upon  this  alone  they  fubfift. 
The  rapid  motion  of  their  wings  occaflons  a  hum- 
ming found,  from  whence  they  have  their  name; 
for  whatever  divides  the  air  fwiftly,  muft  produce 
a  murmur. 

The  nefts  of  thefe  birds  are  alfo  very  curious. 
They  are  fufpended  in  the  air,  at  the  point  of  the 
twigs  of  an  orange,  a  pomegranate,  or  a  citron 
tree-,  fometimes  even  in  houfes,  if  a  fmall  and  con- 


Chap.    -..  Defcriptive  Pieces,  55 

venient  twig  is  found  for  the  purpoie.  The  female 
is  the  architect,  vvhile  the  male  goes  in  queft  of 
materials;  fuch  as  cotton,  fine  mofs,  and  the  fibres 
of  vegetables.  Of  thefe  materials  a  neft  is  com- 
pofed,  about  the  fize  of  a  hen's  egg  cut  in  two  ; 
it  is  admirably  contrived,  and  warmly  lined  with 
cotton.  There  are  never  more  than  two  eggs 
found  in  the  neft;  thefe  are  about  the  fize  of  fmall 
peas,  and  as  white  as  fnow,  with  here  and  there  a 
yellow  fpeck.  The  male  and  the  female  fit  upon 
the  neft  by  turns;  but  the  female  takes  to  herfelf  the 
greateft  (hare.  She  feldom  quits  the  neft,  except 
a  few  minutes  in  the  morning  and  evening,  when 
the  dew  is  upon  the  flowers,  and  their  honey  in 
perfection.  During  this  fhort  interval,  the  male 
takes  her  place.  The  time  of  incubation  continues 
twelve  days;  at  the  end  of  which  the  young  ones 
appear,  much  about  the  fize  of  a  blue-bottle  fly. 
They  arc  at  firft  bare;  by  degrees  they  are  covered 
with  down;  and,  at  laft,  feathers  fucceed,  but  lefs 
beautiful  at  firft  than  thofe  of  the  old  ones. 

Father  Labat,  in  his  account  of  the  miifion  to 
America,  fays,  "  that  his  companion  found  the 
neft  of  a  humming-bird,  in  a  fhcd  near  the 
dwelling-houfe;  and  took  it  in,  at  a  time  when  the 
young  ones  were  about  fifteen  or  twenty  days  old. 
He  placed  them  in  a  cage  at  his  chamber  window, 
to  be  amufed  by  their  fportive  flutterings:  but  he 
was  much  furprifed  to  fee  the  old  ones,  which  came 
and  fed  their  brood  regularly  every  hour  in  the 
day.  By  this  means  they  themfelves  grew  fo 
tame,  that  they  feldom  quitted  the  chamber ;  and, 
lout  any  conftraint,  came  to  live  with  their 


56  Introduction^  &c.  Fart  \ 

young  ones.  All  four  frequently  perched  upon 
their  matter's  hand,  chirping  as  if  they  had  been 
at  liberty  abroad.  He  fed  them  with  a  very  fine 
clear  pafte,  made  of  wine,  bifcuit,  and  fugar. 
They  thruft  their  tongues  into  this  pafte,  till  they 
were  fatisfied,  and  then  fluttered  and  chirped  about 
the  room.  I  never  beheld  any  thing  more  agree- 
able," continues  he,  "  than  this  lovely  little  family, 
which  had  poiTeffion  of  my  companion's  chamber, 
and  flew  in  and  out  juft  as  they  thought  proper \ 
but  were  ever  attentive  to  the  voice  of  their 
matter,  when  he  called  them.  In  this  manner 
they  lived  with  him  above  fix  months  :  but,  at  a 
time  when  he  expected  to  fee  a  new  colony 
formed,  he  unfortunately  forgot  to  tie  up  their 
cage  to  th£  ceiling  at  night,  to  preferve  them  from 
the  rats,  and  he  found  in  the  morning,  to  his  great 
mortification,'  that  they  were  all  devoured." 

GOLDSMITH. 
SECTION     I  IK 

cile  horfe. 

OF  all  quadrupeds,  the  horfe  appears  to  be  the 
moft  beautiful.  His  fine  fize,  the  gloffy  fmooth- 
nefs  of  his  fkin,  the  graceful  eafe  of  his  motions, 
and  the  exact  fymmetry  of  his  fhape,  entitle  him 
to  this  diftincYion. 

To  have  an  idea  of  this  noble  animal  in  his 
native  fimplicity,  we  are  not  to  look  for  him  in 
the  paftures,  or  the  ftables,  to  which  he  has  been 
configned  by  man  \  but  in  thofe  wild  and  exten- 


Chap.   4.  Defcriptive  P  57 

live  plains  where  he  was  originally  produced, 
where  he  ranges  without  control,  and  riots  in  all 
•  the  variety  of  luxurious  nature.  In  this  ftate  of 
happy  independence,  he  difdains  the  afliftance  of 
man,  which  tends  only  to  his  fervitude.  In  thofe 
boundlefs  trafts,  whether  of  Africa,  or  New  Spain, 
re  he  runs  at  liberty,  he  feems  no  way  incom- 
moded with  the  inconveniences  to  which  he  is 
iubjcct  in  Europe.  The  continual  verdure  of  the 
fields  fupplies  his  wants;  and  the  climate  that 
never  knows  a  winter  fuits  his  conftitution,  which 
naturally  feems  adapted  to  heat. 

In  thole  countries,  the  horfes  are  often  feen 
feeding  in  droves  of  five  or  fix  hundred.  As  they 
do  not  carry  on  war  againil  any  other  race  of 
animals,  they  are  fatisfied  to  remain  entirely  upon 
the  defenfive.  They  have  always  one  among 
their  number  that  ftands  as  centinel,  to  give 
notice  of  any  approaching  danger ;  and  this  office 
they  take  by  turns.  If  a  man  approaches  them 
\vhile  they  are  feeding  by  day,  their  centinel 
walks  up  boldly  towards  him,  as  if  to  examine  his 
ftrength,  or  to  intimidate  him  from  proceeding  ; 
but,  as  the  man  approaches  within  piftol  fliot,  the 
centinel  then  thinks  it  high  time  to  alarm  his 
fellows.  This  he  does  by  a  loud  kind  of  fnort- 
ing;  upon  which  they  all  take  the  fignal,  and  fly 
off  with  the  fpeed  of  the  wind ;  their  faithful  cen- 
tinel bringing  up  the  rear. 

But  of  all  countries  in  the  world,  where  the 
horfe  runs  wild,  Arabia  produces  the  moft  beau- 
tiful breed,  the  moft  generous,  fwift,  and  per- 
ring.  They  are  found,  though  not  in  great 


58  Introduction ,  &5V.  Part  i. 

numbers,  in  the  deferts  of  that  country;  and  the 
natives  ufe  every  ftratagem  to  take  them. 

The  ufual  manner  in  which  the  Arabians  try  the 
fwiftnefs  of  thefe  animals,  is  by  hunting  the 
oftrich.  The  horfe  is  the  only  animal  whofe 
fpeed  is  comparable  to  that  of  this  creature,  which 
is  found  in  the  fandy  plains,  that  abound  in  thofe 
countries.  The  inftant  the  oftrich  perceives  itfelf 
aimed  at,  it  makes  to  the  mountains,  while  the 
horfcman  purfues  with  all  the  fwiftnefs  poffible, 
and  endeavours  to  cut  off  its  retreat.  The  chafe 
then  continues  along  the  plain,  while  the  oftrich 
makes  ufe  of  both  legs  and  wings  to  affift  its 
motion.  A  horfe  of  the  fir  ft  fpeed  is  able  to 
outrun  it:  fo  that  the  poor  animal  is  then  obliged 
to  have  recourfe  to  art  to  elude  the  hunter,  by 
frequently  turning.  At  length,  finding  all  efcape 
hopelefs,  it  hides  its  head  wherever  it  can,  and 
tamely  furFers  itfelf  to  be  taken.  If  the  horfe,  in 
a  trial  of  this  kind,  (hows  great  fpeed,  and  is  not 
readily  tired,  his  character  is  fixed,  and  he  is  held 
in  high  eftimation. 

The  horfes  of  the  Arabians  form  the  principal 
riches  of  many  of  their  tribes,  who  ufe  them  both 
in  the  chafe,  and  in  their  expeditions  for  plunder. 
They  never  carry  heavy  burdens,  and  are  feldom 
employed  on  long  journeys.  They  are  fo  tractable 
and  familiar,  that  they  will  run  from  the  fields  to 
the  call  of  their  matters.  The  Arab,  his  wife,  and 
children,  often  lie  in  the  fame  tent  with  the  mare 
and  foal;  which,  inftead  of  injuring  them,  fuffer 
the  children  to  reft  on  their  bodies  and  necks,  and 
feem  afraid  even  to  move  left  they  fhould  hurt 


Chap.  4.  Defiriptiw  Pieces.  59 

them.  They  never  beat  or  correct  their  horfes, 
but  treat  them  with  kindnefs,  and  even  affection. 
The  following  anecdote  of  the  companion  and 
attachment  fliovvn  by  a  poor  Arabian  to  one  of 
thefe  animals,  will  be  interefting  to  every  reader. — 
The  whole  property  of  this  Arab  confided  of  a 
very  fine  beautiful  mare.  This  animal  the  French 
conful  at  SaYd  offered  to  purchafe,  with  an  inten- 
tion to  fend  her  to  the  king,  Louis  the  Fourteenth. 
The  Arab,  prefled  by  want,  hefitated  a  long 
time,  but  at  length  confented,  on  condition  of 
receiving  a  very  confiderable  fum  of  money,  which 
he  named.  The  conful  wrote  to  France  for  per- 
miflion  to  clofe  the  bargain  •,  and  having  obtained 
it,  fent  the  information  to  the  Arab.  The  man, 
fo  poor  as  to  poflefs  only  a  few  rags  to  cover  his 
bod;  ,1  with  his  magnificent  courfer.  He 

difmounted,  but  appeared  to  be  greatly  agitated  by 
contending  emotions.  Looking  rlrft  at  the  gold, 
and  then  at  his  marc,  he  ,\  deep  figh,  and 

exclaimed  ;  "  To  whom  is  it,  I  am  going  to  fur- 
render  thee  ?  To  Europeans  !  who  will  tie  thee 
clofe  ;  who  will  beat  thee  ;  who  will  render  thee 
miferable  !  Return  with  me,  my  beauty,  my  jewel, 
and  rejoice  the  hearts  of  my  children  !"  As  he 
pronounced  the  laft  words,  he  fprung  upon  her 
<  ;  and,  in  a  few  moments,  vns  out  of  fight. 


6'o  Introduction^  &c.  Part  I. 

SECTION     IV. 
The  Ouran-Qutang. 

THE  Ape  called  the  Ouran-Outang,  approaches 
in  external  appearance  nearer  to  the  human  form, 
than  any  other  brute;  and  from  this  circumftance, 
it  has  fometimes  obtained  the  appellation  of  "  Man 
of  the  Woods/'     This  animal  is  of  different  fizes, 
from  three  to  feven  feet.      In  general,  its  flature 
is  lefs  than  that  of  a  man;   but  its  ftrength  and 
agility   are   much  greater.      Travellers    who  have 
feen  various  kinds  of  thefe  animals,  in  their  native 
folitudes,  give  furprifing  relations  of  their  force, 
their  fwiftnefs,  their  addrefs,   and  their  ferocity. 
They  are  found  in   many  parts  of  Africa,   in  the 
Eaft-Indies,  in    Madagafcar,  and  in  Borneo.      In 
the    laft  of  thefe    places,  the    people  of  quality 
courfe  them  as  we  do  the  ftag;   and  this  fort  of 
hunting  is  one  of  the  favourite  amufements  of  the 
king  himfelf.      The  fkin  of  the  Ouran-Outang  is 
hairy,  his  eyes  are  funk  in  his  head,  his  counte- 
nance is  ftern,  and  all  his  lineaments,   though  re- 
fembling  thofe  of  man,  are  harfli,   and  blackened 
by  the  fun.      He  fleeps  under  trees,  and  builds  a 
hut  to  protect   himfelf  againft  the   fun   and   the 
rains.     When  the  negroes  have  left  a  fire  in  the 
woods,  he  comes  near,  and  warms  himfelf  by  the 
blaze.      He  has  not,  however,  fenfe  and  (kill  fuf- 
ficient  to  keep  the  flame  alive  by  feeding  it  with 
fuel. — Thefe  animals  often  go  together  in  compa- 
nies; and  if  they  happen  to  meet  one  of  the  human 


Chap.  4.  Defer iptive  Pieces.  6 1 

fpecies,  remote  from  fuccour,  they  felclom  flioxv 
him  favour-  Sometimes,  however,  they  fpare 
thofe  who  fall  into  their  hands.  A  negro  boy  was 
carried  off  by  one  of  them,  and  lived  with  them 
upwards  of  a  year.  On  his  efcape  and  return 
home,  he  defcribed  many  of  them  as  being  larger 
than  men;  and  he  faid  that  they  never  attempted 
to  injure  him.  They  frequently  attack  the  ele- 
phant: they  beat  him  with  clubs,  and  oblige  him 
to  leave  that  part  of  the  foreft  which  they  claim 
as  their  own. — When  one  of  thefe  animals  dies, 
the  reft  cover  the  body  with  leaves  and  branches. 

The  manners  of  the  Ouran-Outang,  when  in 
confinement,  are  gentle,  and,  for  the  moft  part, 
harmlefs,  perfectly  devoid  of  that  difgufting  fero- 
city fo  confpicuous  in  fome  of  the  larger  baboons 
and  monkeys.  It  is  mild  and  docile,  and  may  be 
taught  to  perform,  with  dexterity,  a  variety  of 
entertaining  actions.  Vofmaer's  account  of  one 
of  thefe  animals,  which  was  brought  into  Holland 
in  the  year  1776,  and  lodged  in  the  menagerie  of 
the  prince  of  Orange,  is  fo  exceedingly  curious, 
that  we  fhall  prefent  the  reader  with  an  extract 
from  it. 

"  This  animal  fhowed  no  fymptoms  of  fiercc- 
nefs  and  malignity.      It  was  fond  of  being  in  com- 
pany,  and   appeared    to    be    very   fenfiblc   of  the 
kindnefs  of  thofe  who  had  the  care  of  it.      Often, 
when  they  retired,   it   would   throw  itfelf  on  the 
ground,  as  if  in  defpair,   uttering  lamentable  cries, 
and  tearing  in   pieces   the, linen   within   its   reach. 
keeper   having  been  accuftomed  to  fit   near  it 
on  the  ground,  it  frequently  took  the  hay  of 
G 


6  z  Introduction^   &c.  Part  j . 

bed,  and  laid  it  by  its  fide,  and  feemed  by  all  its 
actions  to  invite  him  to  be  feated  nearer.  Its 
ufual  manner  of  walking  was  on  all  fours,  but  it 
could  alfo  walk  on  its  two  hind-feet  only.  It  eat 
almoft  every  thing  that  was  given  to  it ;  but  us 
chief  food  was  bread,  roots,  and  all  forts  of  fruit, 
efpecially  ftrawberries.  When  prefented  with 
ftrawberries  on  a  plate,  it  was  extremely  pleafant 
to  fee  the  animal  take  them  up,  one  by  one,  with 
a  fork,  and  put  them  into  its  mouth,  holding  at 
the  fame  time  the  plate  in  the  other  hand.  Its 
common  drink  was  water;  but  it  alfo  very  willingly 
drank  all  forts  of  wine,  and  particularly  Malaga. 
After  drinking,  it  wiped  its  lips  ;  and  after  eating, 
if  prefented  with  a  toothpick,  it  would  ufe  it  in  a 
proper  manner.  On  fhipboard,  it  ran  freely  about 
the  veffel,  played  with  the  failors,  and  went,  like 
them,  into  the  kitchen  for  its  mefs.  At  the  ap- 
proach of  night,  it  lay  down  to  fleep,  and  pre- 
pared its  bed,  by  fliaking  well  the  hay  on  which  it 
flept,  and  putting  it  in  proper  order.  It  would 
then  carefully  draw  up  the  coverlet.  This  animal 
lived  only  feven  months  after  it  had  been  brought 
into  Holland." 

The  Ouran-Outang,  defcribed  by  Buffbn,  ex- 
hibited a  (till  greater  degree  of  fagacity.  It 
walked  upon  two  legs,  even  when  it  carried  bur- 
thens. Its  air  was  melancholy,  and  its  deportment 
grave.  Unlike  the  baboon  and  the  monkey,  whofe 
motions  are  violent  and  appetites  capricious,  whofe 
fondnefs  for  mifchief  is  remarkable,  and  whofe 
obedience  proceeds  only  from  fear,  this  animal 
was  flow  in  its  motions,  and  a  look  was  fufficient 


•  4-  Defcriptive  Pieces.  63 

to  keep  it  in  awe.  I  have  fcen  it,  fays  BufFon, 
give  its  hand  to  {how  the  company  to  the  door  5 
I  have  feen  it  lit  at  table,  unfold  its  napkin,  wipe 
its  lips,  make  ufe  of  the  fpoon  and  the  fork  to 
carry  victuals  to  its  mouth  ;  pour  out  its  drink  into 
a  glafs,  and  touch  glafles  when  invited  ;  take  a 
cup  and  fuicer,  lay  them  on  the  table,  put  in 
fugar,  pour  out  il  cave  it  to  cool,  and  then 

drink  it.      All  this  it  would  do  without  any  other 
Cation    than    the    figns    or    comannds    of   its " 
er,   and  often  of  its  own  accord.      It  was  gen- 
tle and  inoftenlwe  :    it  even  approached   Grangers 
;    and   came  rather   to  receive  carefTes 
s  particularly  fond  of 

con,  body  was   ready   to  give  it; 

but  as  it  had  a  dtiiuxion  upon  the  breaft,   fo  much 

ir  contributed  to  increafe   the  diforder,   and  to 

It    continued    at  Paris    but   one 

lummer,   and  died  in  London. 

jre  told  \  .1,    that  the  Ouran-Outangs 

ra  Lcona  ;    where    they  are  ftrong 

;ncd,   and    fo  induurious,   that,   when 

:)cJ  iiiul  f.'.!,    they  work  like  fervants  ;. 

ound    any   fubftances 

.1  that  they  are  frequently  fent  to 

in    invall    pitchers,   from    the    rivers. 

i he  pitchers,   they  carry  them  on  their 

door  of  the  dwelling;   but  if  they  are 

not  fcon  taken  oil*,    the  animals  fufler  them  to  fall 

;he  ground.      \Vhtn   they  perceive  the  pitcher 

oe    overturned  and    broken,    they    utter    loud 

•;-ans  of  this  animal  bear  fo  near 


t>4  Introduction ,  &c.  Part  i, 

a  refemblance  to  thofe  of  men,  that  we  are  fur- 
prifed  to  find  them  productive  of  fo  few  advan- 
tages. The  tongue,  and  all  the  organs  of  the 
voice,  are  fimilar,  and  yet  the  animal  is  dumb ; 
the  brain  is  formed  in  the  fame  manner  as  that  of 
man,  and  yet  the  creature  wants  reafon:  an  evi- 
-  dent'  proof,  -as  BufFon  finely  obferve%  that  no 
arrangement  of  matter  will  give  mind;  and  that 
the  body,  how  nicely  foever  formed,  is  formed  to 
very  limited  ends,  when  there  is  not  infilled  a  foul 
to  direct  its  operations. 

SECTION    v. 

The  four  feafons* 

WHO  is  this  beautiful  virgin  that  approaches, 
clothed  in  a  robe  of  light  green  ?  She  has  a  gar- 
land of  flowers  on  her  head,  and  flowers  fpring  up 
wherever  fhe  fets  her  foot.  The  fnow  which 
covered  the  fields,  and  the  ice  which  was  in  the 
rivers ,  melt  away  when  fhe  breathes  upon  them. 
The  young  lambs  frifk  about  her,  and  the  birds 
warble  in  their  little  throats  to  welcome  her  com- 
ing •,  and  when  they  fee  her,  they  begin  to  choofe 
their  mates,  and  to  build  their  neils.  Youths  and 
maidens,  have  you  feen  this  beautiful  virgin?  If 
you  have,  tell  me  who  is  fhe,  and  what  is  her 
name. 


WHO  is  this  that  comes  from  the  fouth,  thinly 
clad  in  a  light  tranfparent  garment  ?  Her  breath  is 
hot  and  fultry  \  flie  fecks  the  refreshment  of  the 


','iptive  P  6Y 

cool  fhade;  ilie  feeks  the  clear  ftreams,  the  crys- 
tal brooks,  to  bathe  her  languid  limbs.  The  brooks 
and  rivulets  ily  from  her,  and  are  dried  up  at  her 

roach.  She  cools  her  parched  lips  with  berries, 
and  the  grateful  acid  of  fruits;  the  feedy  melon, 
the  iharp  apple,  and  the  red  pulp  of  the  juicy 

•TV.    which  are  poured  out   plentifully  around 

The  tanned  haymakers  welcome  her  coming; 

and  the  .   who  clips  the  fleeces  of  his 

flock  with  his  founding  (hears.    When  flie  comes, 

let  me  lie    under   the   thick   fhade  of  a   fpreading 

beech    tree; — let  me  walk  with  her   in  the    early 

morning,    when  the  dew   is  yet  upon  the  grafs  ; — 

let  >  j|kher  in  the  foft  twilight,   when 

'shis  fold,    an  ;r  of  evening 

Who  ib  ihe  th.  u  the  fouth? 

Youths  luis,   tell  me  if  you  know,  who  Is 

flic,   and  what  is  her  name. 


Wno  is  he  that  comes  with  fobtr  pace,  flealing 
upon  us  una  are  red  with  the 

blood  of  the  ul  his  temples  are  bound  with 

a  fheaf  of  ripj  wheat.      His  hair  is  thin  and  begins 
to   fall,   and   the  auburn   is   mixed  with    mournful 
s  the   brown  nuts   from  the   tree. 
winds  tlu:  horn,    and  calls  the  hunters  to  their 
fports.      The   gun    fi  The    trembling    par- 

tridge and  the  beautiful    pheafant  flutter,   bleeding 
lir,   and  fall  dead   at   the   fportfman's   feet, 
hat  is  crowned  with  the  wh-tat-fheaf  ? 
i'jns,   tell  me,   if  you  know,   who 
I), 'it  is  his  name. 

G    2 


66  Introduction,  5sV.  Part  i. 

WHO  is  he  that  comes  from  the  north,  clothed 
in  furs  and  warm  wool  ?  He  wraps  his  cloak  clofe 
about  him.  His  head  is  bald;  his  beard  is  made 
of  (harp  icicles.  He  loves  the  blazing  fire,  high 
piled  upon  the  hearth.  He  binds  fkates  to  his 
feet,  and  fkims  over  the  frozen  lakes.  His  breath 
is  piercing  and  cold,  and  no  little  flower  dares  to 
peep  above  the  furface  of  the  ground,  when  he  is 
by.  Whatever  he  touches  turns  to  ice.  If  he 
were  to  ftrike  you  with  his  cold  hand,  you  would 
be  quite  ftiff  and  dead,  like  a  piece  of  marble. 
Youths  and  maidens,  do  you  fee  him  ?  He  is 
coming  faft  upon  us,  and  foon  he  will  be  here. 
Tell  me,  if  you  know,  who  is  he^  and  what  is  his 
name.  BARBAULD. 

SECTION     VI. 

Divine  Providence. 

THE  glorious  fun  is  fet  in  the  weft;  the  night- 
dews  fall;  and  the  air  which  was  fultry,  becomes 
cool.  The  flowers  fold  up  their  coloured  leaves  ; 
they  fold  themfelves  up,  and  hang  their  heads  on 
the  {lender  ftalk.  The  chickens  are  gathered 
under  the  wing  of  the  hen,  and  are  at  reft:  the 
hen  herfelf  is  at  reft  alfo.  The  little  birds  have 
ceafed  their  warbling ;  they  are  afleep  on  the 
boughs,  each  one  with  his  head  behind  his 
wing.  There  is  no  murmur  of  bees  around  the 
hive,  or  amongft  the  honeyed  woodbines;  they 
have  done  their  work,  and  they  lie  clofe  in  their 
waxen  cells.  The  fheep  rejl  upon  their  foft 


Chap.  4.  Deferiptive  Pieces.  67 

fleeces,  and  their  loud  bleating  is  no  more  heard 
nmongft  the  hills.  There  is  no  found  of  a  number 
of  voices,  or  of  children  at  play,  or  the  trampling 
of  bufy  feet,  and  of  people  hurrying  to  and  fro. 
The  finith's  hammer  is  not  heard  upon  the  anvil  5 
nor  the  harfh  faw  of  the  carpenter  AH  men  arc 
ftretched  on  their  quiet  beds  j  and  the  child  fleeps 
upon  the  breaft  of  its  mother.  Darknefs  is  fpread 
over  the  ikies,  and  darknefs  is  upon  the  ground  : 
every  eye  is  fhut,  and  every  hand  is  ftill. 

Who  takes  care  of  all  people  when  they  are 

funk   in  fleep-,  when   they  cannot   defend  them- 

js,  nor  fee  if  danger  approaches  ? — There  is 

an  eye  that  never  fleeps •,  there  is  an  eye  that  fees 

in   dark   night,   as   well    as   the   bright   fun-fhine. 

When   there  is  no   light  of  the  fun,  nor  of  the 

moon  •,  when  there  is  no  lamp  in  the  houfe,  nor 

little  ftar  twinkling  through  the  thick  clouds ; 

jr   where,    in    dl   places,   and 

watches   continually   over  all  the  families  of  the 

earth.      The  eye  that  fleeps  not,  is  God's  ;  his  hand 

is  always  ftretched  out  over  us.      He  made  leep  to 

refrefh  us  when  we  are  weary  :  he  made  night,  that 

we   might  fleep  in  quiet.      As  the  mother  moves 

about  the  houfe  with  her  finger  on  her  lips,  and 

ftills  every  little  noife,   that  her  infant  be  not  dif- 

turbed-,   as   (he  draws  the  curtains  around  its  bed, 

and  fhuts  out  the   light   from   its   tender  eyes ;   fo 

God  draws  the  curtains  of  darknefs  around  us  ;   fo 

he  makes  all  things  to  be  hufhed  and  ftill,   that  his 

family  may  fleep  in  peace. 

ourers  fpent  with  toil,   and  young  children, 

ry  little  humming  infeft,  fleep  quietly,  for 


6&  Introduction )  &c.  Part  I. 

God  watches  over  you.  You  may  fleep,  for  he 
never  fleeps:  you  may  clofe  your  eyes  in  fafety, 
for  his  eye  is  always  open  to  protect  you. 

When  the  darknefs  is  paffed  away,  and  the 
beams  of  the  morning  fun  ftrike  through  your 
eye-lids,  begin  the  day  with  praifing  God,  who 
has  taken  care  of  you  through  the  night.  Flow- 
ers, when  you  open  again,  fpread  your  leaves, 
and  fmell  fweet  to  his  praife  !  Birds,  when  you 
awake,  warble  your  thanks  amongft  the  green 
boughs  !  fing  to  him  before  you  fing  to  your 
mates!  —Let  his  praife  be  in  our  hearts,  when  we 
lie  down  ;  let  his  praife  be  on  our  lips,  when  we 
awake.  BARBAULD. 

SECTION    VII. 
Health. 

WHO  is  (he  that  with  graceful  fteps,  and  with 
a  lively  air,  trips  over  yonder  plain  ? 

The  role  blufhes  on  her  cheeks  \  the  Aveetnefs 
of  the  morning  breathes  from  her  lips  ;  joy,  tem- 
pered with  innocence  and  modefty,  fparkles  in  her 
eyes-,  and  the  cheerfulnefs  of  her  heart  appears  in 
all  her  movements.  Ker  name,  is  Health  :  (he  is 
the  daughter  of  Exercife  and  Temperance.  Their 
ions  inhabit  the  mountains  and  the  plain.  They 
are  brave,  active,  and  lively,  and  partake  of  all 
the  beauties  and  virtues  of  their  fifter.  Vigour 
ftrings  their  nerves,  ftrength  dwells  in  their  bones, 
and  labour  is  their  delight  all  the  day  long.  The 
employments  pf  their  father  excite  their  appetites ; 


Defcnptive  Pieces.  69 

and  the  repafts  of  their  mother  refrefli  them.  To 
combat  the  paflions,  is  their  delight ,  to  conquer 
evil  habits,  their  glory.  Their  pleafures  are  mo- 
derate, and  therefore  they  endure;  their  repofe  is 
ihort,  but  found  and  undifturbed.  Their  blood  is 
pure  ;  their  minds  are  ferene ;  and  the  phyiichn 
not  find  the  way  to  their  habitations. 

ECONOMY    OF    HUM.    LIFE. 


SECTION     VIII. 

Charity. 

HAPPY  is  the  man  who  has  fown  in  his  bread- 
the  feeds  of  charity  and  love!  From  the  fountain 
of  his  heart  rife  rivers  of  goodnefs  ;  r.nd  the  dreams 
overflow  for  the  benefit  of  mankind.  He  afllfts 
the  poor  in  their  trouble  \  he  rejoices  in  promo- 
ting the  of  all  men.  He  docs  not  harfhly 
cenfure  his  neighbour  ;  he  believes  not  the  t,  les  of 
envy  and  malevolence,  nor  repeats  their  ilanders. 
He  forgives  the  injuries  of  men  ;  he  wipes  them 
from  his  remembrance  :  revenge  and  malice  have 
no  place  in  his  heart.  For  evil  he  returns  not 
:  he  hates  not  even  his  enemies ;  but  requites 
their  injuflice  with  friendly  admonition.  The 
griefs  and  anxieties  of  men  excite  his  companion : 
he  endeavours  to  alleviate  the  weight  of  their  mis- 
fortunes ;  and  the  pleafure  of  fuccefs  rewards  his 
labour.  He  calms  the  fury,  he  heals  the  quarrels 
of  angry  men  ;  and  prevents  the  mifchiefs  of  ftrife 
ruofity.  He  promotes  in  his  neighbour-* 


_  &c.  Part  i* 

hood   peace  and  good  will  5   and  his  name  is  re* 
peated  with  praife  and  benedictions. 

ECONOMY     OF     HUM.     LIFE*. 
SECTION     IX. 

Gratitude. 

As  the  branches  of  a  tree  return  their  fap  to  the 
.root,  from  whence  it  arofe;  as  a  river  pours  its 
flreams  to  the  fea,  whence  its'  fpring,  was  fupplied  -9 
fo  the  heart  of  a  grateful  man  delights  in  return- 
ing a  benefit  received.  He  acknowledges  his  ob- 
ligation with  cheerfulnefs ;  he  looks  on  his  bene- 
fadtor  with  love  and  efteem.  And  if  to  return  a 
favour  be  not  in  his  power,  he  cherifhes  the  re*- 
membrance  of  it  through  life. 

The  hand  of  the  generous  man  is  like  the  clouds 
of  heaven,  which  drop  upon  the  earth,  fruits,  herb- 
age, and  flowers:  but  the  heart  of  the  ungrateful 
is  like  a  clefert  of  fand,  which  fwallows  with 
greedinefs  the  fhowers  that  fall,  buries  them  in  its 
bofom,  and  produces  nothing. 

The  grateful  mind  envies  not  its  benefactor,  nor 
ftrives  to  conceal  the  benefit  he  has  conferred. 
Though  to  oblige  is  better  than  to  be  obliged; 
though  the  act  of  generofity  commands  admira- 
tion; yet  the  humility  of  gratitude  touches  the 
heart,  and  is  amiable  in  the  fight  both  of  God  and 
man.  ECONOMY  OF  HUM,  LIFE. 


Qcfiriptive  Pieces*-  -71^ 

SECTION   X. 

Mortality, 

'CHILD  of  mortality,  whence  comeft  thou  ?  why 
is  thy  countenance  fad,  and  why  are  thy  eyes  red 
with  weeping  ? — I  have  fcen  the  rofe  in  its  beauty; 
it  fpread  its  leaves  to  the  morning  fun.  1  re- 
turned: it  was  dying  upon  its  ftalk:  the  grace  of 
the  form  of  it  was  gone;  its  loveiinefs  was  vanished 
away;  its  leaves  were  fcp.ttered  on  the  ground, 
and  no  one  gathered  them  again. 

A  (later  n  the  plain;  its  branches 

were  covered  with  verdure;  its  boughs  fpread  wide, 
and  made  a  goo,  -vr;  the  trunk  was  like  a 

ftrong  pillar;  the  roots  were  like  crooked  fangs. 
I  returned;  the  verdure  was  nipt  by  the  eaft  wind; 
the  branch^  ry  by  the  axe  ;  the 

worm  had  made  its  way  into  the  trunk,  and  the 
heart  thereof  was  decayed;  it  mouldered  away, 
and  fell  to  the  ground. 

I  have  feen  the  infects  fporting  in  the  funfhine, 
and  darting  along  the  ftreams  ;  their  wings  glit- 
tered with  gold  and  purple;  their  bodies  (hone 
like  the  green  emerald:  they  were  more  numerous 
than  I  could  count;  their  motions  were  quicker 
than  my  eye  could  glance.  I  returned  :  they 
were  brufhed  into  the  pool  ;  they  were  perifliing 
with  the  evening  breeze  ;  the  Avallow  had  devoured 
them  ;  the  pike  had  feized  them  :  there  were  none 
found  of  fo  great  a  multitude. 

I  have  fcen  man  in  the  pride  of  his  flrength  ; 


&c.  'Pert  i. 

his  cheeks  glowed  with  beauty  ;  his  limbs  were  full 
of  activity  •,  he  leaped  \  he  walked  j  he  ran-,  he  re- 
joiced in  that  he  was  more  excellent  than  thofe. 
I  returned  :  he  lay  ftiff  and  cold  on  the  bare 
ground  ;  his  feet  could  no  longer  move,  nor  his 
hands  ftretca  themfelves  out ;  his  life  was  departed 
from  him ;  and  the  breath  out  of  his  noftrils. 
Therefore  do  I  weep  becaufe  DEATH  is  in  the 
world  *,  the  fpoiler  is  among  the  works  of  God : 
all  that  is  made,  muft  be  deftroyed-,  all  that  is 
born,  muft  die-,  let  me  alone,  for  I  will  weep  yet 
longer.  BARBAULD. 

SECTION    XI. 

«H 

Immortality, 

I  HAVE  feen  the  flower  withering  on  the  ftalk, 
and  its  bright  leaves  fpread^on  the  ground. — I 
looked  again  : — it  fprung  forth  afrefh  ;  its  ftem 
was  crowned  with  new  buds,  and  its  fweetnefs 
filled  the  air. 

I  have  feen  the  fun  fet  in  the  weft,  and  the 
fhades  of  night  {hut  in  the  wide  horizon:  there 
was  no  colour,  nor  (hape,  nor  beauty,  nor  mufic  : 
gloom  and  darknefs  brooded  around. — I  looked  ; 
the  fun  broke  forth  again  from  the  eaft,  and  gilded 
the  mountain  tops  ;  the  lark  rofe  to  meet  him 
from  her  low  neft,  and  the  {hades  of  darknefs  fled 
away. 

I  have  feen  the  infeft,  being  come  to  its  full 
fize,  languish,  and  refufe  to  eat :  it  fpun  itfelf  a 
tomb,  and  was  flirouded  in  the  filken  cone  ;  it 


Defer  iptive  Pieces.  73 

lay  without  feet,  or  fliape,  or  power  to  move. — I 
looked  again  :  it  had  burft  its  tomb;  it  was  full  of 
life,  and  failed  on  coloured  wings  through  the  foft 

i'i  its  new  being. 

\\\  it  be  with  tbee,  O  man!  and  fo  fliall 
thy  life  be  renewed.  Beauty  fliall  fpring  up  out 
of  afhes,  and  life  out  of  the  duft.  A  little  while 
fhalt  thoa  lie  in  the  ground,  as  the  feed  lies  in 
the  bofom  of  the  earth  :  but  thou  (halt  be  raifcd 
again;  and  thou  (halt  never  die  any  more. 

Who  is  he  that  conies,  to  burft  open  the  prifon 
doors  of  the  tomb;   to  bid  the  dead  awake;   and  to 
gather  his  redeemed  from  the  four  wings  of  hea- 
ven ?   II  l.s  on  a  fiery  cloud;   the  found  of 
a  trumpet  goes  before  him ;   thoufands  of  angels 
are  on   his  right   hand. — It  is   Jefus,   the  Son   of 
God;   the  faviour  of  men  ;   the  friend  of  the  good, 
comes  in   the  glory  of  his  Father  ;   he  has  re- 
ed power  from  on  high. 

Mourn  not,  therefore,  child  of  immortality  !  for 
tlte  fpoiler,   the  cruel   fpoiler,   that  laid   \vafte   the 
f  God,   is  fubdued.      Jefus  has   conquered 
death  : — child  of  immortality  !   mourn  no  lonr 

BAR  BAIT  I.  D. 
SECTION     XII. 

Heaven. 

rofe  is  fweet,   but  it   is  furrounded   \vith 
:   the  lily  of  the;  valley  is   fragrant,   but  it 
up  amongft  the  brambles.      The  fprinr 
,   but  it  is  foon  paft:   the  fu miner  i.;  bright, 
II 


7  4  Introduction  )  &t,\  Part 


j. 


bat  the  winter  deftroys  its  beauty.  The  rainbow 
is  very  glorious,  but  it  foon  vanifhes  away:  life  is 
good,  but  it  is  quickly  fwallowed  up  in  death. 

There  is  a  land,  where  the  rofes  are  without 
thorns;  where  the  flowers  are  not  mixed  with, 
brambles.  In  that  land,  there  is  eternal  fpring, 
and  light  without  any  cloud.  The  tree  of  life 
grows  in  the  mid  ft  thereof;  rivers  of  pleafure  are 
there,  and  flowers  that  never  fade.  Myriads  of 
happy  fpirits  are  there,  and  furround  the  throne 
of  God  with  a  perpetual  hymn.  The  angels  with 
their  golden  harps  fing  praifes  continually,  and 
the  cherubim  fly  on  wings  of  fire!  —  This  country 
is  heaven:  it  is  the  country  of  thofe  that  are  good: 
and  nothing  that  is  wicked  muft  inhabit  there. 
The  toad  muft  not  fpit  its  venom  amongft  turtle- 
doves: nor  the  poifonous  henbane  grow  amongft 
fweet  flowers.  Neither  muft  any  one  that  does 
ill,  enter  into  that  good  land. 

This  earth  is  pleafant,  for  it  is  God's  earth, 
and  it  is  filled  with  many  delightful  things.  But 
.that  country  is  far  better  :  there  we  {hall  not 
grieve  any  more,  nor  be  fick  any  more,  nor  do 
wrong  any  more;  there  the  cold  or  winter  fhali 
not  wither  us,  nor  the  heats  of  fummer  fcorch  us. 
In  that  country  there  are  no  wars  nor  quarrels,  but 
all  dearly  love  one  another. 

When  our  parents  and  friends  die,  and  are  laid 
in  the  cold  ground,  we  fee  them  here  no  niore  ; 
but  there  we  (hall  embrace  them  again,  and  live 
\vitli  them,  and  be  feparated  no  more.  There 
we  ihall  meet  all  good  men,  whom  we  read  of  in 
holy  books.  There  we  {hall  fee  Abraham,  thr. 


Ubap.  4.  Defcriptive  Pieces.  75 

called  of  God,  the  father  of  the  faithful;  and 
Mofes,  after  his  long  wanderings  in  the  Arabian 
defert;  and  Elijah,  the  prophet  of  God;  and 
Daniel,  who  efcaped  the  lions' den;  and  there  the 
fon  of  JeiTe,  the  (liepherd  king,  the  fweet  finger 
of  Ifrael.  They  loved  God  on  earth;  they  prailed 
him  on  earth;  but  in  that  country  they  will  praife 
him  better,  and  love  him  more. 

There  we  (hall  fee  Jefus,  who  is  gone  before 
us  to  that  happy  place;  and  there  we  fhall  behold 
the  glory  of  the  high  God.  We  cannot  fee  him 
here,  but  we  will  love  him  here.  We  muft  be 
now  on  earth,  but  we  will  often  think  on  heaven. 
That  happy  land  is  our  home;  we  are  to  be  here 
but  for  a  little  while,  and  there  for  ever,  even  for 
eternal  ages.  BARBAULB. 


CHAPTER  V. 

DIALOGUES. 

SECTION     I. 

CANUTE     AND     HIS     COURTIERS. 

Flattery  reproved. 

CANUTE. 


IS  it  true,   my  friends,  as  you  have  often  told  me 
that  I  am  the  greateft  of  monarchs? 


OFF  A. 

It  is  true,  my  liege  j  you  are  the  moft  powerful 
of  all  kings. 

OSWALD. 

We  are  all  your  flaves;  we  kifs  the  duft  of  your 
feet. 

OFF  A. 

Not  only  we,  but  even  the  elements,  are  your 
ilaves.  The  land  obeys  you  from  fliore  to  fhore; 
and  the  fea  obeys  you. 

CANUTE. 

Does  the  fea,  with  its  loud  boifterous  waves, 
obey  me  ?  Will  that  terrible  element  be  ftill  at  my 
bidding  ? 


Chap.  5.  Dialogues.  77 

O  F  F  A. 

Yes,  the  fea  is  yours ;  it  was  made  to  bear  your 
{hips  upon  its  bofom,  and  to  pour  the  treasures  of 
the  world  at  your  royal  feet.  It  is  boifterous  to 
your  enemies,  but  it  knows  you  to  be  its  fovereign. 

CANTUTE. 

Is  not  the  tide  coming  up? 

\V  A  L  D . 

Yes,  my  liege;  you  may  perceive  the  fwell 
already. 

NUTE. 

Bring  me  a  chair  then;  iet  it  here  upon  the 
fands. 

o  i 
Where  the  tide  is  coming  up,  my  gracious  lord? 

\  U  T  E . 

Yes,  fet  it  juft  here. 

\VAI.D.     (AJi.de.) 
I  wonder  what  he  is  going  to  do  ! 

(Afidc.) 
Surely  he  is  not  Ib  filly  as  to  believe  us! 

O    mighty   Ocean!    thou    art   my  fubjecl:;   my 
courtiers  tell   me  fo;   and  it   is   thy   duty  to   obey 
"  me.      Thus,   then,   I  ftretch  my  fceptrc  over  thee, 
nd  thee  to  retire.      Rollback  thy  fwell* 
im  nor  let  them   prefume  to  v;ct  the 

of  i  roval  mailer. 

H    2 


78  Introduction,  &?r.  Part  I. 

OSWALD.      (Afide.) 

I  believe  the  fea  will  pay  very  little  regard  to  his 
royal  commands. 

OFF  A. 

See  how  faft  the  tide  rifes ! 
OSWALD. 

The  next  wave  will  come  up  to  the  chair.  It  is 
folly  to  flay ;  we  fhall  be  covered  with  fait  water. 

CAN  UTE. 

Well,  does  the  fea  obey  my  commands  ?  If  it 
oe  my  fubjeft,  it  is  a  very  rebellious  fubjecl. 
See  now  it  fwells,  and  dafhes  the  angry  foam, 
and  fait  fpray  over  my  facred  perfon!  Vile  fyeo- 
phants!  did  you  think  I  was  the  dupe  of  your 
bafe  lies  ?  that  I  believed  your  abject  flatteries  ? 
Know,  there  is  but  one  Being  whom  the  fea  will 
obey.  He  is  Sovereign  of  heaven  and  earth,  King 
of  kings,  and.  Lord  of  lords.  It  is  only  he  who 
can  fay  to  the  ocean,  u  Thus  far  fhalt  thou  go, 
but  no  farther,  and  here  fhall  thy  proud  waves  be 
Aayed."  A  king  is  but  a  man;  and  a  man  is  but  a 
worm.  Shall  a  worm  aiTume  the  power  of  the 
great  God,  and  think  the  elements  will  obey  him?— 
May  kings  learn  to  be  humble  from  my  example, 
vind  courtiers  learn  truth  from  your  difgrace! 

DR.    A  i  K  I  M » 


Chap .  <  5 .  Dialogues*  7  $ 

SECTION    H. 
THE     TWO     ROBBERS. 

We  often  condemn  in  others  what  we  practise  onrfehe^ 

ALEXANDER  the  Gt'(at  !n  Ins  tent.      A  man  with  a 

fierce  countenance^   chained  and  fettered^ 

brought  before  him. 

A  L  E  X  A  N  D  ; 

WHAT,  art  thou  the  Thracian  robber,  of  whofe 
exploits  I  have  heard  fo  much? 

ROBBER. 

I  am  a  Thracian,  and  a  foldier. 

ALEXANDER. 

A  Soldier  ! — a  thief,  a  plunderer,  an  aflaffin  ! 
the  peft  of  the  country!  I  could  honour  thy  cour- 
age, but  I  muft  deteft  and  punifli  thy  crimes. 

ROBBER. 

What  have  I  done,  of  which  you  can  complain  ? 

A  I.  i  KR. 

r  thou  not  fet  at  defiance  my  authority; 
violated  the  public  peace,  and  pafled  thy  life  in 
injuring  the  perfons  and  properties  of  thy  fellow 
fubjecls  ? 

ROBBER. 

xander  !  I  am  your  captive — I  muft  hear 
what  you  pleafe  to  fay,  and  endure  what  you 


So  Introduction  >  &c.  Part  I. 

pleafe  to  inflict.  But  my  foul  is  unconquered  ; 
and  if  I  reply  at  all  to  your  reproaches,  I  will  reply 
like  a  free  man. 

ALEXAN  DER. 

Speak  freely.  Far  be  it  from  me  to  take  the 
advantage  of  my  power,  to  lilence  thofe  with 
whom  I  deign  to  converfe ! 

ROBBER. 

I  muft  then  anfwer  your  (queftion  by  another. 
How  have  you  paiTed  your  life? 

ALEXANDER. 

Like  a  hero.  Aik  Fame,  and  fhe  will  tell  you. 
Among  the  brave,  I  have  been  the  braveft :  among 
fovereigns,  the  nobleft:  among  conquerors,  the 
mightieft. 

ROBBER. 

And  does  not  Fame  fpeak  of  me,  too?  Was 
there  ever  a  bolder  captain  of  a  more  valiant  band? 
Was  there  ever — But  I  fcorn  to  boaft.  You  your- 
felf  know  that  I  have  not  been  eafily  fubdued. 

ALEXAN  DER. 

Still,  what  are  you  but  a  robber — a  bafe,  dif- 
honed  robber. 

ROBBER. 

And  what  is  a  conqueror  ?  Have  not  you,  too, 
gone  about  the  earth  like  an  evil  genius,  blafting 
.the  fair  fruits  of  peace  and  induftry;  plundering, 
ravaging,  killing,  without  law,  without  jnftice, 
merely  to  gratify  an  kifatiable  luft  for  dominion? 
All  that  I  have  done  to  a  fingle  diftrict  with  a  hun- 


C&ap.  5.  Dialogues.  8* 

dred  followers,  you  have  done  to  whole  Nations 
i  a  hundred  thoufand.  If  I  have  ft  ripped  in- 
dividuals, you  have  ruined  kings  and  princes.  If 
I  have  burned  a  few  hamlets,  you  have  defolated 
the  tnoft  flourifhing  kingdoms  and  cities  of  the 
earth.  What  is  then  the  difference,  but  that  as 
you  were  born  a  king,  and  I  a  private  man,  you 
have  been  able  to  become  a  mightier  robber  than  I  ? 

A  L  K  X  A  N  D  E  R  . 

But  if  I  have   taken   like  a  king,  I  have   g 
like  a  king.      If  I  have  fub verted  empires,   I  have 
founded  greater.     I  have  cheriflied  arts,  commerce, 
and  philofophy. 

ROBBER. 

I,  too,  have  freely  given  to  the  poor,  what  I 
took  from  the  rich.  I  have  eftabliflied  order  and 
difcipline  among  the  moft  ferocious  of  mankind  ; 
and  have  ftretched  out  my  protecting  arm  over  the 
opprefTed.  I  know,  indeed,  little  of  the  philofophy 
you  talk  of  j  but  I  believe  neither  you  nor  I  ihall 
ever  atone  to  the  world,  for  the  mifchiefs  we  have 
done  it. 

ALEX  A N D  E  R . 

Leave  me — Take  off  his  chains,  and  ufe  him 
well. — Are  we  then  fo  much  alike? — Alexander  to 
a  robber  ? — Let  me  reflect. 

DR.    A1IUN, 


Introduction )  &c.  Part  I. 


SECTION    III. 
A     FAMILY    CONVERSATION. 

On  the  Jlavery  of  the  negroes. 
AUGUSTA. 

My  dear  papa,  you  once  informed  me,  that  in 
the  Weft-Indies,  all  laborious  operations  were  per- 
formed by  negro  flaves.  Are  thofe  iflands  in- 
habited by  negroes  ?  I  thought  thefe  people  were 
natives  of  Africa. 

FATHER. 

You  are  right,  my  dear;  they  are,  indeed,  natives 
of  Africa  $  but  they  have  been  fnatched,  by  the 
hand  of  violence,  from  their  country,  friends,  and 
connexions.  I  am  afhamed  to  confefs,  that  many 
{hips  are  annually  fent  from  different  parts  of  Eng- 
land, to  the  coaft  of  Guinea,  to  procure  Haves  from 
that  unhappy  country,  foil  the  ufe  of  our  Weft- 
India  iflands,  where  they  are  fold  to  the  planters 
of  fugar-plantations  *,  and  afterwards  employed  in 
the  hardeft  and  moft  fervile  occupations  ;  and  pafs 
the  reft  of  their  lives  in  flavery  and  wretchednefs. 

SOPHIA. 

How  much  my  heart  feels  for  them !  How  ago- 
nizing muft  it  be,  to  be  feparated  from  one's  near 
relations  ;  parents  perhaps  divided  from  their  chil- 
dren for  ever  ;  hufbands  from  their  wives;  brothers 
and  lifters  obliged  to  bid  each  other  a  fin^l  fare- 


Chap.  2.  Dialogues*  83 

well  ! — But  why  do  the  kings  of  the  African  flates 
fuffer  their  fubjecb  to  be  fo  cruelly  treated  ? 

MOTHER. 

Many  caufes  have  operated  to  induce  the  African 
princes  to  become  affiftants  in  this  infamous  traflic  : 
and  inftead  of  being  the  defenders  of  their  harm- 
lefs  people,  they  have  frequently  betrayed  them  to 
their  moft  cruel  enemies.  The  Europeans  have 
corrupted  thefc  ignorant  rulers,  by  prefents  of  rum, 
and  other  fpirituous  liquors,  of  which  they  arc  im- 
moderately fond.  They  have  fomented  j^aloufies, 
and  excited  wars,  am  on.:  ,  merely  for  the 

fake  of  obtaining   the  prifouers  of  war  for  (laves. 

^uently  t  no  ceremony,   but  go  on  fhore 

in  the  night,   fet  fire  to  a  neighbouring  village,  and 

e  upon  all  the  unhnpp'  ,   who  run  out  to 

efcape  the 


:t  hardened  hearts  do  the  is  of  thofe 

{hips  pofTcfs  !   They  muft  \trernely 

cruel,  before  they   would  in:  em- 
ployment. 

There  i  ;,  by ' 

habits  of  fuch   a   life,   ar  F  to  the 

e  of  pity  :   we    mu ft,   however,   compaflionate 
fituation   of  thofe,    whole   parents   have   early 
m   to  tliis   profeffion,   before   they  were  of 
to  choofe  a  different  employment.      Jjiit  to 
:he  fubjeft  of  roes.      \Vhat   I  i.1 

jnly  the  beginning  of  their  fern 


8*j.  Introduction ,  &c.  Parj  i. 

When  they  are  put  on  board  the  fhips,  they  arc 
crowded  together  in  the  hold,  where  many  of  them 
die  for  want  of  air  and  room.  There  have  been 
frequent  inftances  of  their  throwing  themfelves 
into  the  fea,  when  they  could  find  an  opportunity, 
and  feeking  in  death  a  refuge  from  their  calamity. 
As  foon  as  they  arrive  in  the  Weft-Indies,  they  are 
carried  to  a  public  market,  where  they  are  fold  to 
the  beft  bidder,  like  horfes  at  our  fairs.  Their 
future  lot  depends  much  upon  the  difpofition  of 
the  matter,  into  whofe  hands  they  happen  to  fall; 
for,  among  the  overfeers  of  fu gar-plantations',  there 
are  fome  men  of  feeling  and  humanity:  but  too 
generally  the  treatment  of  the  poor  negroes  is  very 
fevere.  Accuftomed  to  an  eafy,  indolent  life,  in 
the  luxurious  and  plentiful  country  of  Africa,  they 
find  great  hardfhip  from  the  tranfition  to  a  life  of 
fevere  labour,  without  any  mixture  of  indulgence 
to  foften  it.  Deprived  of  the  hope  of  amending 
their  condition,  by  any  courfe  of  conduct  they  can 
purfue,  they  frequently  abandon  themfeives  to  de- 
fpair  ;  and  die,  in  what  is  called  the .  feafoning, 
which  is  becoming  inured  by  length  of  time  to 
their  fituation.  They  who  have  lefs  fenflbility  and 
ftronger  confHtutions,  furvive  their  complicated 
mifery  but  a  few  years:  for  it  is  generally  acknow- 
ledged, that  they  feldom  attain  the  full  period  of 
human  life. 

AUGUSTA. 

Humanity  flindders  at  your  account  !  But  I  have 
heard  a  gentleman,  'who  had  lived  many  years 
abroad,  fay,  that  negroes  were  not  much  fuperior 


Dialogues.  85 

to  the  brutes ;  and  that  they  were  fo  ftupid  and 
ftubborn,  that  nothing  but  ftripes  and  feverity 
could  have  any  influence  over  them. 

FATHER. 

That  gentleman  was  moil  probably  Interefted 
in  mifleading  thofe  with  whom  he  converfed. 
People,  who  reafon  in  that  manner,  do  not  con- 
fider  the  difadvantages  which  the  poor  negroes 
fuffer,  from  want  of  cultivation.  Leading  an  ig- 
norant favage  life  in  their  own  country,  they  cart 
have  acquired  no  previous  information  :  and  when 
they  fall  into  the  hands  of  their  cruel  opp 
a  life  of  laborious  fervitude,  which  lean  ely  utlords 
them  fufficient  time  for  fleep,  deprives  them  of 
every  opportunity  of  improving  their  minds.  There 
is  no  reafon  to  fuppofe  that  they  differ  from  us  in 
any  thing  but  colour  ;  which  diftinc'lion  arifcs  from 
the  intenfe  heat  of  their  climate.  There  have  been 
inflances  of  a  few,  whofe  fituation  has  been  fa- 
vourable to  improvement,  who  have  fiiown  ttrong 
powers  of  mind.  Thofe  matters,  woo  neglect 
the  religious  and  moral  inftruftion  of  their  flaves, 
add  a  heavy  load  of  guilt  to  that  already  incurred,, 
by  their  (hare  in  this  unjuft  and  inhuman  tiv. 

CHARLES. 

My  indignation  rifes  at  this  recital.      Why  does 
not   the    Britiih    parliament    exert  its    power,   to 
avenge  the  wrongs  of  thefe  oppreffed   Africa 
What  yp  prevent  an  aft  being  patted  to   for 
Englifhmen  from  buying  and  felling  flavcs  ? 
I 


86  Introduction >  &c.  Part  I. 

FATHER. 

Many  perfons  of  great  talents  and  virtue,  have 
made  feveral  fruitlefs  attempts  to  obtain  an  act  for 
the  abolition  of  this  trade.  Men  interefted  in  its 
continuance  have  hitherto  fruftrated  thefe  generous 
defigns ;  but  we  may  rely  upon  the  goodnefs  of 
that  Divine  Providence,  who  cares  for  all  creatures, 
that  the  day  will  come,  when  their  rights  will  be 
confidered :  and  there  is  great  reafon  to  hope, 
from  the  light  already  caft  upon  the  fubjeft,  that 
the  riling  generation  will  prefer  juftice  and  mercy, 
to  intereft  and  policy ;  and  will  free  themfelves 
from  the  odium  we  at  prefent  fuffer,  of  treating 
our  fellow-creatures  in  a  manner  unworthy  of 
them,  and  of  ourfelves. 

MOTHER. 

Henry,  repeat  that  beautiful  apoftrophe  to  a 
.negro  woman,  which  you  learned  the  other  day 
out  of  Barbauld's  Hymns. 

HENRY. 

"  Negro  woman,  who  iitteft  pining  in  captivity, 
and  weepeft  over  thy  fick  child,  though  no  one 
lees  thee,  God  fees  thee  ;  though  no  one  pities 
thee,  God  pities  thee.  Raife  thy  voice,  forlorn 
and  abandoned  one;  call  upon  him  from  amidfl 
thy  bonds,  for  afiuredly  he  will  hear  thee. 

CECILIA. 

I  think  no  riches  could  tempt  me  to  have  any 
fnare  in  the  ilave-trade.  I  could  never  enjoy  peace 
of  mind,  whilft  I  thought  I  contributed  to  the 
woes  of  my  fellow-creatures. 


Chap.   5.  Dialogues..  87 

MOTHER. 

But,  Cecilia,  to  put  your  companion  to  the 
proof ;  are  you  willing  to  debar  yourielf  of  the  nu- 
merous indulgences  you  enjoy,  from  the  fruit  of 
their  labour  ? 

CECI  L  I  A. 

I  would  forego  any  indulgence  to  alleviate  their 
fufferings. 

:77v  reft  of  the  children  together. 
We  are  all  of  the  fame  mind. 

MOTHER. 

1  admire  the  fenfibility  of  your  uncorrupted 
hearts,  my  dear  children.  It  is  the  voice  of  nature 
and  virtue.  Liften  to  it  on  all  occafions,  and 
bring  it  home  to  your  bofoms,  and  your  daily  prac- 
tice. The  fame  principle  of  benevolence,  which 
excites  your  juft  indignation  at  the  oppreflion  of 
the  negroes,  will  lead  you  to  be  gentle  towards  your 
inferiors,  kind  and  obliging  to  your  equals,  and  in 
a  particular  manner  condefcending  and  conflderate 
towards  your  ^TOcfticg  ;  requiring  no  more  of 
them,  than  you  would  be  willing  to  perform  in 
their  fituation  ;  inftrucVmg  them  when  you  have 
opportunity  ;  fympathizing  in  their  afiiiclions,  and 
:>ting  their  bcft  in*  rcfls  to  the  utmoft  of  your 

P.     \V  AKEFIELD.- 


*8  Introduction,  (3c.  Part  i. 

SECTION    IV. 

Tke  father  redeemed  from  Jlavery  by  his  fom 

A  YOUNG  man,  named  Robert,  was  fitting 
alone  in  his  boatj  in  the  harbour  of  Marfeilles.  A 
itranger  ftepped  in,  and  took  his  feat  near  him, 
but  quickly  rofe  again  ;  obferving,  that,  fince  the 
matter  was  not  prefent,  he  would  take  another 
boat.  "  This,  fir,  is  mine,"  faid  Robert:  li  would 
you  fail  without  the  harbour  ?" — "  I  meant  only 
to  move  about  in  the  bafin,  and  enjoy  the  cool- 
nefs  of  this  fine  evening.  But  I  cannot  believe  you 
are  a  failor." — "  Nor  am  I :  yet  on  fundays  and 
holidays,  I  a£t  the  bargeman,  with  a  view  to  make 
up  a  Aim." — u  What !  coveteus  at  your  age  ! 
your  looks  had  almoft  prepoiTefTed  me  in  your 
favour. * — a  Alas  !  fir,  did  you  know  my  fituation, 
you  would  not  'blame  me." — "  Well ;  perhaps  I 
am  miflaken.  Let  us  take  our  little  cruife  of 
pleafure  ;  and  acquaint  me  with  your  hiftory." 

The  ftranger  having  refumed'^Hls  feat,  the  dia- 
logue, after  a  (liort  paufe,  proceeded  thus.  al 
perceive,  young  man,  you  are  fad.  What  grieves 
you  thus  ?" — "  My  father,  fir,  groans  in  fetters, 
and  I  cannot  ranfom  him.  He  earned  a  livelihood 
by  petty  brokerage  ;  but,  in  an  evil  hour,  em- 
barked for  Smyrna,  to  Superintend  in  perfon  the 
delivery  of  a  cargo,  in  which  he  had  a  concern. 
The  veffel  was  captured  by  a  Barbary  corfair ; 
and  my  father  was  conducted  to  Tetuan,  where 
he  is  now  a  Have.  They  refufed  to  releafe  him 


j .  Dialogues.  89 

for  Icfs  than  two  thoufand  crowns,  a  fum  which 
far  exceeds  our  fcanty  means.  However,  we  do 
our  beft.  My  mother  and  fitters  work  day  and 
nieht.  I  ply  liard  at  my  dated  occupation  of  a 
jJBpeyman  jeweller;  and,  as  you  perceive,  make 
:c  I  can  of  fundays  and  holidays.  I  had  re- 
folved  to  put  myielf  in  my  father's  fteadj  but  my 
mother,  apprized  of  my  defign,  and  dreading  the 
double*privation  of  a  hufband  and  an  only  fon, 
requeued  the  Levant  captains  to  refufe  me  a  paf- 
fage." — u  Pray,  do  you  ever  hear  from  your 
father?  Under  what  name  docs  he  pafs?  or  what 
is Jlfckm after *s  addrcfs?" — "His  matter  is  over- 
he  royal  gardens  at  Fez;  and  my  father's 
Robert  at  Tctuan,  as  at  Marfeilles." — 
"  Robert,  overfeer  of  the  royal  gardens?" — "  Yes, 
fir." — "  I  am  touched  with  your  misfortunes  j  but 
venture  to  predicl  their  termination." 

Night   drew    on  The    ft  ranger,   upon 

landing,  thruft  into  young  Robert's  hand  a  purfc 
containing  eight  double  louis  d'or,  with  ten  crowns 
in  filver,  and  inftantly  difappeared« 

Six  weeks  palled  after  this  adventure  ;  and  each- 
returning  fun  bore  witnefs  to  the  unremitting  ex- 
ertions of  the  good  family.  As  they  fat  one  day 
at  their  unfavoury  meal  of  bread  and  dried  almonds, 
old  Robert  entered  the  apartment,  in  a  garb  little 
fuited  to  a  fugitive  prifonerj  tenderly  embraced 
his  wife  and  children,  and  thanked  them,  with 
tears  of  gratitude,  for  the  fifty  louis  they  had 
caufed  to  be  remitted  to  him  on  his  i  om. 

lan,    for   his  i^ge,    and    a   comfortable 

iring  apparel.     His  aftoniflied  rclati 
I    2 


90  Introduftioii)  £s>V.  Part  I. 

eyed  one  another  in  filence.  At  length,  the  mo- 
ther, fufpedting  that  her  fon  had  fecretly  concerted 
the  whole  plan,  recounted  the  various  inflances  of 

his    zeal    and  affection.      <;  Six   thoufand  livr.es/ 

% 

continued  fhe,  "is  the  fum  we  wanted;  and 
had  already  procured  fomewhat  more  than  tlie 
half,  owing  chiefly  to  his  induftry.  Some  friends, 
no  doubt,  have  affifted  him  upon  an  emergency 
like  the  prefent."  A  gloomy  fuggeftion  crofed  the 
father's  mind.  Turning  fucldenly  to  his  fon,  and 
eyeing  him  with  >the  fternnefs  of  diffraction, 
4<  Unfortunate  boy,"  exclaimed  he,  "  what  have 
you  done  ?  How  can  I  be  indebted  to  you^jHIiy 
freedom,  and  not  regret  it?  How  cou  fFecl: 

my  ranfom,  without  your  mother's  knowledge, 
ynlefs  at  the  expenfe  of  virtue  ?  I  tremble  at  the 
thought  of  filial  affection  having  betrayed  you  into 
guilt.  Tell  the  truth  at  once,  whatever  may  be 
the  confequence." — u  Calm  your  apprehenfions, 
my  dc;areft  father,"  cried  the  fon  embracing  him. 
if  No,  I  am  not  unworthy  of  fuch  a  parent,  though 
fortune  has  denied  me  the  fatisfadiion  of  proving 
the  full  ftrength  of  my  attachment.  I  am  not 
your  deliverer:  but  I  know  who  is.  Recollect^ 
mother,  the  unknown  gentleman,  who  gave  me 
the  purfe.  He  was  particular  in  his  inquiries. 
Should  I  pafs  my  life  in  the  purfuit,  I  muft  en- 
deavour to  meet  with  him,  and  invite  him  to  con- 
template the  fruits  of  his  beneficence."  He  then 
related  to  his  father  all  that  pafied  in  the  pleafure- 
boat,  and  removed  every  diftreffing  fufpicion. 

Reftorecl  to  the  bofom  of  his  family,  the  father 
again  partook  of  their  joys,  profpered  in  his  ( 


.    £.  Dialogues.  91 

ings,  and  faw  his  children  comfortably  eftablifhed. 
Some  time  afterwards,  on  a  Sunday  morning,  as 
the  fon  was  walking  on  the  quay,  he  difcovered 
tej  -  benefactor,  clafped  his  knees,  and  entreated 
him  as  his  guardian  angel,  as  the  preferver  of  a 
flmer  and  a  family,  to  (hare  the  happinefs  he  had 
been  the  means  of  producing.  The  ftranger  again 
difappeared  in  the  crowd — but,  reader,  this 
ftranger  was  Montefquieu. 

MUIRHEAD'S  TRAVELS. 


SECTION     V. 


TUTOR     AND     HIS     PUPILS. 

Eyes  and  f;o  eyes;    or,  the  art  of  feeing. 

WELL,  Robert,  where  have  you  been  walking 
this  afternoon  ?  (faid  a  Tutor  to  one  of  his  pupils 
at  the  clofe  of  a  holiday.) 

ROBERT. 

ieen  to  Broom-heath,  and  fo  round  by 
the  windmill  upon  Camp-mount,  and  home  through 
the  meadows  by  the  river  fide. 

TUTOR. 

Well,  that  is  a  pleafant  round.  * 

ROBERT. 

I  thought  it  very  dull,  fir-,  I  fcarcely  met  with 
a  fmgle  perfon.      I  would  much  rather  haye  gonf 
e  turnpike  road. 


c?2  introduction,  &c.  Part  I. 

TUTOR. 

Why,  if  feeing  men  and  horfes  is  your  object, 
you  would,  indeed,  be  better  entertained,  on  the 
high-road.  But  did  you  fee  William  ? 

ROB  ERT. 

1 

We  fet  out  together,  but  he  lagged  behind  in 
the  lane,  fo  I  walked  on  and  left  him. 

TUTOR. 

That  was  a  pity.  He  would  have  been  com- 
pany for  you. 

ROB  ERT. 

Jfj^ 

O,  he  is  fo  tedious,  always  flopping  to  jflRat 
this  thing  and  that !  I  would  rather  walk  alone,  I 
dare  fay  he  is  not  got  home  yet. 

TUTO&. 

Here  he  comes.  Well,  William,  where  have 
you  been. 

WILLIAM. 

O,   the  pleafanteft  walk !   I  went  all  over  Broom- 
heath,  and  fo  up  to  the  mill  at  the  top  of  the  hill, 
and  then  down  among  the  green  meadows  by  the 
^fide  of  the  river. 

TUTOR. 

Why,  that  is  juft  the  round  Robert  has  been 
taking,  and  he  complains  of  its  dulnefs,  and  pre- 
fers the  high-road. 

WI  LLI  AM. 

I  wonder  at  that.  I  am  fure  I  hardly  took  a 
flep  that  did  not  delight  me,  and  I  have  brought 
borne  my  handkerchief  full  of  curioiitks. 


Dialogues.  .93 

TUTOR. 

Suppofe  then,  you  give  us  an  account  of  what 
amufed  you  fo  much.  I  fancy  it  will  be  as  new  to 
Robert  as  to  me. 

W  I  L  L  I  A  M . 

I  will  do  it  readily.  The  lane  leading  to  the 
heath,  you  know,  is  clofc  and  fandy,  fo  I  did  not 
mind  it  much,  but  made  the  beft  of  my  way. 
However,  I  fpied  a  curious  thing  enough  in  the 
hedge.  It  was  an  old  crab-tree,  out  of  which 
grew  a  great  bunch  of  fomething  green,  quite  dif- 
ferent from  the  tree  itfelf.  Here  is  a  branch  of  it* 


rent  fro 

\ 


TUTOR. 

Ah!  this  is  miftietoe,  a  plant  of  great  fame  for 
the  ufe  made  of  it  by  the  Druids  cf  old,  in  their 
religious  rites  and  incantations.  It  bears  a  very 
flimy  white  berry,  of  which  birdlime  may  be 
made,  whence  the  Latin  name  Vifcus.  It  is 
one  of  thofe  plants  which  do  not  grow  in  the 
ground  by  a  root  of  their  own,  but  fix  themfelves 
upon  other  plants;  whence  they  have  been  hu- 
moroufly  ftyled  parafttualy  as  being  hangers-on, 
or  dependents.  It  was  the  miftietoe  of  the  oak 
that  the  Druids  particularly  honoured. 

\V  I  L  L  I  A  M  . 

A  little  further  on  I  law  a  green  woodpecker 
fly  to  a  tree,  and  run  up  the  trunk  like  a  cat. 

TUTOR. 

s   to  feek  for  in  feels   in  the  bark,  on 
h    they    live.      They    bore  holes    with    their 
ng  bills  for  that  purpofe,  and  do  much  damage 
e  trees  by  it. 


,94  Introduftisn,  £?r.  Part  l. 

\vi  LLI  AM. 

What  beautiful  birds  they  are ! 
TUTOR. 

Yes;  they  have  been  called  from  their  colour 
and  fize  the  Englifh  parrot. 

WILLIAM. 

When  I  got  upon  the  open  heath,  how  charm- 
ing it  was!  The  air  feemed  fo  frefh,  and  the 
profpedl  on  every  fide  fo  free  and  unbounded! 
Then  it  was  all  covered  with  gay  flowers,  many 
of  which  I  had  never  obferved  before.  There 
were  at  lead  three  kinds  of  heath,  (I  have  got 
them  in  my  handkerchief  here,)  and  gorfe,  and 
broom,  and  bell-flower,  and  many  others  of  all 
colours,  of  which  I  will  beg  you  prefently  to  tell 
me  the  names. 

TUTOR. 

That  I  will,  readily. 

WILLIAM. 

I  faw,  too,  feveral  birds  that  were  new  to  me. 
There  was  a  pretty  greyifh  one,  of  the  iize  of  a 
lark,  that  was  hopping  about  fome  great  {tones; 
and  when  he- flew,  he  fhowed  a  great  deal  of 
white  above  his  tail. 

T  u  T  o  R  . 

That  was  a  wheat-ear.  They  are  reckoned 
very  delicious  birds  to  eat,  and  frequent  the  open 
downs  in  Suffex,  and  fome  ether  counties,  in  great 
numbers. 

WILLIAM. 

There  was  a  flock  of  lapwings  upon  a  m: 


Chap.  5.  Dialogues.  y$ 

part  of  the  heath,  that  amufed  me  much.  As  I 
came  near  them,  fome  of  them  kept  flying  round 
and  round  juft  over  my  head,  and  crying  pewit  fo 
diftinc*lly,  one  might  almoft  fancy  they  fpoke.  I 
thought  I  fhould  have  caught  one  of  them,  for  he 
flew  as  if  one  of  his  wings  was  broken,  and  often 
tumbled  clofe  to  the  ground;  but  as  I  came  near, 
he  always  contrived  to  get  away. 

TUTOR. 

Ha,  ha!  you  wer.e  finely  taken  in,  then!  This 
was  all  an  artifice  of  the  bird's  to  entice  you  away 
from  its  neft:  for  they  build  upon  the  bare  ground, 
and  their  nefts  would  eaiily  be  obferved,  did  not 
they  draw  off*  the  attention  of  intruders,  by  their 
loud  cries  and  counterfeit  lament Ts. 

\VI  I.  L  I  A  M. 

I  wifli  I  had  known  that,  for  he  led  me  a  long 
.chafe,  often  over  fhoes  in  water.  However,  it 
was  the  caufe  of  my  falling  in  with  an  old  man 
and  a  boy,  who  were  cutting  and  piling  up  turf  for 
fuel;  and  I  had  a  good  deal  of  talk  with  them, 
about  the  manner  of  preparing  the  turf,  and  the 
price  it  fells  at.  They  gave  me,  too,  a  creature  I 
never  faw  before — a  young  viper,  which  they  had 
juft  killed,  together  with  its  dam.  I  have  feen 
feveral  common  fnakes,  but  this  is  thicker  in  pro- 
portion, and  of  a  darker  colour  than  they  are. 

TUTOR. 

True.      Vipers    frequent    thofc    turfy,     boggy 
;  pretty  much,   and  I  have  known   feveral 
bitten  by  them. 


Part  i. 


WILLIAM. 

They  are  very  venomous,  are  they  not? 

TUTOR. 

Enough  fo  to  make  their  wounds  painful  and 
.dangerous,  though  they  feldona  prove  fatal. 

WILLIAM. 

Well  —  I  then  took  my  courfe  up  to  the  wind- 
mill on  the  mount.  I  climbed  up  the  fteps  of  the 
mill  in  order  to  get  a  better  view  of  the  country 
round.  What  an  extenfive  profpecl!  I  counted 
fifteen  church  fleeples;  and  I  faw  feveral  gentle- 
men's houfes  peeping  .out  from  the  midfl  of  greeif 
woods  and  plantations;  and  I  could  trace  the 
windings  of  the  river  all  along  the  low  grounds* 
till  it  was  loft  behind  a  ridge  of  hills.  But 
I'll  tell  you  what  I  mean  to  do,  if  yon  will  give  me 
leave. 

TUTOR. 

What  is  that  ? 

WILLIAM., 

I    will   go   again,  and   take    with   me   Carey's 
county  map,  by  which  I  fhall  probably  be  able  to 
make  out  moft  of  the  places. 
TUTOR. 

You  (hall  have  it,  and  I  will  go  with  you,  and 
take  my  pocket  fpying-glafs. 

wi  LLI  AM. 

I  fhall  be  very  glad  of  that.  Well  —  a  thought 
ftruck  me,  that  as  the  hill  is  called  Gamp-mount^ 
there  might  probably  be  ibme  remains  of  ditches 


Dialogues.  97 

and  mounds,  with  which  I  have  read  that  camps 
were  iiiiTOundcd.  And  \  ve  I  difcover- 

ed  lomething  of  that  fort  running  round  one  fide 
of  the  mount. 

TUTOR. 

Very  likely    you    might.      I    know    antiquarie-- 
have    defcribed    fuch    remains    as    cxifting   tlv. 
which  fome  ruppofe  to  be  Roman,   others 
\Ve  will  examine  them  further  when  we  go. 

\vi  L  LI  AM. 

:n  the  hill  1  went  ftraight  down  to  the 
clows   below,   and    walked  on  the  fide   of  a   brook 
that  runs  into  the  river.      It  was  all  b  with 

reeds,  and  flags,  and  tall  flowering  plants,  quite 
different  from  thofe  I  had  iecn  on  the  heath.  As 
I  was  getting  down  the  bank  to  reach  one  of  them, 
I  heard  fom  'tinge  into  the  water  near 

It  was   ii  lar  -rat,    and  I  faw   it  fwim    c 

to    the  other  fide,   and  go   into  its  hole.      T! 
re  a  great  many  large  dragon   flies  all  about,  the 
im.      I  caught  one  of  the  fineft,    and  have  got 
,  here  in  a  leaf.      But  how  I  longed  to  cart 
it  I  faw  hovering  over  the  water,   and  t\ 
.'   and    then   darting   down    into    it!    It 

are    of  the  tnoft   beautiful    green  and 

ith  fomc  orange  colour.      It  was  fome  what 

•i  a  thru:1  ..ad   a  large  !  jill, 


,  OR. 

;i  what  that  bird  was — a  kingil flier, 
.ited     halcyon    of  the    ancients.,    - 


98  Introduction ,  &V.  Part  I. 

which  fo  many  tales  are  told.  It  lives  on  fifh, 
which  it  catches  in  the  manner  you  faw.  It  builds 
in  holes  in  the  banks;  and  is  a  ihy  retired  bird, 
never  to  be  feen  far  from  the  {bream  where  it 
inhabits. 

WILLIAM. 

I  in  uft  try  to  get  another  fight  of  him,  for  I 
never  faw  a  bird  that  pleafed  me  fo  much.  Well, 
I  followed  this  little  brook  till  it  entered  the  river, 
and  then  took  the  path  that  runs  along  the  bank. 
On  the  oppofite  fide  I  obferved  feveral  little  birds 
running  along  the  fliore,  and  making  a  piping 
noife.  They  were  brown  and  white,  and  about 
as  big  as  a  fnipe. 

TUTOR. 

I  fuppofe  they  were  fand-pipers,  one  of  the 
numerous  family  of  birds  that  get  their  living  by 
wading  among  the  {hallows,  and  picking  up 
worms  and  infects.  . 

WILLIAM. 

There  were  a  great  many  fwallows,  too,  fport- 
ing  upon  the  furface  of  the  water,  that  entertained 
me  with  their  motions.  Sometimes  they  daflied 
into  the  ft  ream-  ;  fometimes  they  purfuecl  one 
another  fo  quickly  that  the  eye  could  fcarcely  fol- 
low them.  In  one  place,  where  a  high  fteep 
fund-bank  rofe  directly  above  the  river,  I  obferved 
many  of  them  go  in  and  out  of  holes,  with  which 
the  bank  was  bored  full. 

TUTOR. 
Thofe  were  fand-martins,   the  finalleft  of  our 


.  5-  Dialogues.  99 

four  fpecies  of  fwallows.  They  are  of  a  moufe- 
colour  above,  and  white  beneath.  They  make 
their  nefts,  and  bring  up  their  young  in  thefe 
holes,  which  run  a  great  depth,  and  by  their  fitua- 
tion  are  fecure  from  all  plunderers. 

WILLIAM. 

A  little  further  I  faw  a  man  in  a  boat,  who  \va .; 
catching  eels  in  an  odd  way.  He  had  a  long  pole 
with  broad  iron  prongs  at  the  end,  juft  like 
Neptune's  trident,  only  there  were  five  inftead  of 
three.  This  he  puflied  ftraight  down  into  the 
mud,  in  the  deepeft  parts  of  the  river,  and  fetched 
up  the  eels  fticking  between  the  prongs. 

TUTOR. 

I  have  feen  this  method.  It  is  called  fpearing 
of  eels. 

W  I  L  L  I 

at  him,   a  heron  came  fly- 
over my  head,    with  his  large  flagging  wings, 
alighted  at  the  next  turn  of  the  river,   and  I 
t  foftly  behind  the  bank  to  watch  his  motions, 
lie   had    waded  into  the   water   as  far   as  his   long 
would  carry   him,   and    was  ftanding   with  his 
neck  drawn  in,   looking  intently   on  the    ftream. 
Prefently    he   darted    his    long    bill    as     quick 
lightning   into   th  ;,   and   drew    out    a   fifli, 

h  he  i\vall'j\\\d.      I  law  him  catch  another  in 
the  fame   manner.      lie  then   took   alarm  at  f 
noife  I   made,   and  flew  away  flowly   to   a 


c  j  Intro  d:i  El  ion  ^  &c.  Parti, 

TUTOR. 

Probably  his  neft  was  there,  for  herons  build 
upon  the  loftieft  tree  they  can  find,  and  fometimes 
in  fociety  together,  like  rooks.  Formerly,  when 
thefe  birds  were  valued  for  the  amufement  of 
hawking,  many  gentlemen  had  their  heronries,  and 
a  few  are  ilill  remaining. 

WILLIAM. 

I  think  they  are  the  largeft  wild  birds  we  have. 

TUTOR. 

They  are  of  great  length  and  fpread  of  wing, 
but  their  bodies  are  comparatively  fmall. 

WILLIAM. 

I  then  turned  homeward  acrofs  the  meadows, 
where  I  flopped  awhile  to  look  at  a  large  flock  of 
fbrlings,  which  kept  flying  about  at  no  great 
diftance.  I  could  not  tell  at  firft  what  to  make  of 
them  ;  for  they  rofe  all  together  from  the  ground 
;is  thick  as  a  fwarm  of  bees,  and  formed  them- 
fdvcs  into  a  kind  of  black  cloud  hovering  over  the 
field.  After  taking  a  fhort  round  they  fettled 
Dgnin,  and  prefently  rofe  again  in  the  fame  man- 
ner. I  dare  fay  there  were  hundreds  of  them. 

TUTOR. 

Perhaps  fo;  for  in  the  fenny  countries,  their 
flocks  are  fo  numerous,  as  to  break  down  whole 
;icrcs  of  reeds  by  fettling  on  them.  This  difpofi- 
"  tion  of  ftarlings  to  fly  in  clofe  fwarms,  was  re- 
inr.rked  even  by  Homer,  who  compares  the  foe 
fiyino  from  one  of  his  heroes,  to  a  cloud  of  ftar- 
Ilngs  retiring  difmayed  at  the  approach  of  the  hawk. 


>.    j.  Dialogues.  101 

W  I  L  1. 1  A  M . 

After  I  had  left  the  meadows,  I  croiTed  the  corn 
fields  in  the  way  to  our  houfe,  and  pafTed  clofe 
by  a  deep  marl  pit.  Looking  into  it,  I  faw  in 
one  of  the  fides  a  duller  of  what  I  took  to  be 
fhells-,  and  upon  going  down,  1  picked  up  a  clod 
of  marl,  which  was  quite  full  of  them;  but  how 
fea  fhells  could  get  there  I  cannot  imagine. 

TUTOR. 

I  do  not  wonder  at  your  iurprifc,  flnce  many 
philofophers  have  been  much  perplexed  to  ac- 
count for  the  fame  appearance,  It  is  not  uncom- 
mon to  find  great  quantities  of  ilWs  arid  relics  of 
marine  animals,  even  in  the  Towels  of  high 
mountains  very  remote  from  the  fea. 

\V  I  L  I.  I  A  M. 

I   got  to  the  high   field   next  to   our  houfe  juft 

as    the    fun   was    letting,   and   I   flood   looking   at 

'oil.      What  a  glorious   fight! 

The  clouds  were  tinged  with  purple  and  crlmfon, 
and  yellow  of  all  fhades  and  hues,  and  the  clear  fky 
varied  from  blue  to  a  fine  green  at  the  horizon. 
But  how  large  the  fun  appears  juft  as  it  fets!  I 
think  it  feems  twice  as  big  as  when  it  is  over 
head. 

TUT  o 

It  does  fo;   and  you  may  probably  have  obferved 
fame  apparent  enlargement  of  the  moon  at  its 

W  I  L  LI  AM. 

ray  what  is  the  reafon  of  this  ? 

K    2 


TO 2  Introduction)  &c.  Part  I. 

TUTOR. 

It  is  an  optical  deception,  depending  upon 
principles  which  I  cannot  well  explain  to  you  till 
you  know  more  of  that  branch  of  fcience.  But 
what  a  nffmber  of  new  ideas  this  afternoon's  walk 
has  afforded  you  ?  I  do  not  wonder  that  you  found 
it  amufing;  it  has  been  very  inftrucYive  too.  Did 
von  fee  nothing  of  all  thefe  fights,  Robert  ? 

ROBERT. 

I  faw  fome  of  them,  but  I  did  not  take  particular 
notice  of  them. 

TUTOR. 

Why  not  ?  ^ 

ROBERT. 

I  do  not  know.      I  did  not  care  about  them  ; 
and  I  made  the  bed  of  my  way  home. 
TUTOR. 

That  would  have  been  right  if  you  had  been 
fent  on  a  meiTage;  but  as  you  only  walked  for 
amufement,  it  would  have  been  wifer  to  have 
fought  out  as  many  fources  of  it  as  poffible.  But 
ib  it  is — one  man  walks  through  the  world  with 
his  eyes  open,  and  another  with  them  fhut ;  and 
upon  this  difference  depends  all  the  fuperiority  of 
knowledge  the  one  acquires  above  the  other.  I 
Lave  known  failors  who  had  been  in  all  the 
quarters  of  the  world,  and  could  tell  you  nothing 
but  the  iigns  of  the  tippling-houfes  they  frequented 
in  different  ports,  and  the  price  and  quality  of  the 
liquor.  On  the  other  hand,  a  Franklin  could  not 
erols  the  channel  without  making  fome  obferva 


Clap.   5.  Dialogues.  103 

tions  ufeful  to  mankind.  While  many  a  vacant 
thoughtlefs  youth  is  whirled  throughout  Europe, 
without  gaining  a  Tingle  idea  worth  crofting  a 
ftreet  for,  the  obferving  eye  and  inquiring  mind 
find  matter  of  improvement  and  delight,  in  every 
ramble  in  town  and  country.  Do  you  then  William 
continue  to  make  ufe  of  your  eyes;  and  you 
Robert,  learn  that  eyes  were  given  you  to  ufe. 

DR.   AIKIN, 


CHAPTER  VI. 

PROMISCUOUS    PIECES. 

SECTION    I, 
We  deftroy  pleafure  by  purfulng  it  too  eagerly. 

JLJL  BOY,  fmitten  with  the  colours  of  a  butterfly, 
purfued  it  from  jtower  to  flower  with  indefatigable 
pains.  Firft,  h£  aimed  to  furprife  it  among  the 
leaves  of  a  rofej  then  to  cover  it  with  his  hat,  as 
it  was  feeding  on  a  daify.  At  one  time,  he  hoped 
to  fecure  it,  as  it  revelled  on  a  fprig  of  myrtle; 
and  at  another,  grew  fure  of  his  prize,  perceiving 
it  to  loiter  on  a  bed  of  violets.  But  the  fickle  fly 
ftill  eluded  his  attempts.  At  laft,  obferving  it  half 
buried  in  the  cup  of  a  tulip,  he  rufhed  forward, 
and  fnatching  it  with  violence,  crufhed  it  to  pieces. 
Thus,  by  his  eagernefs  to  enjoy,  he  loft  the  objeft 
of  his  puffuit. — From  this  inftance,  young  perfons 
may  learn,  that  pleafure  is  but  a  painted  butterfly; 
which,  if  temperately  purfued,  may  ferve  to 
amufe;  but  which,  when  embraced  with  too  much 
ardour,  will  perifh  in  the  grafp. 

LORD    KAMES, 

- 


.    6.  Prcmifcuous  Pieces.  105 

SECTION      II. 
On    ilerl    unit    and  love. 


"  OBSERVE  thofe  two  hounds,  that  are  coupled 
together,  faid  Euphronius  to  Lucy  and  Emilia, 
who  were  looking  through  the  window.  "  How 
they  torment  each  other  by  a  difagreement  in  their 
purfuits!  One  is  for  moving  flowly,  and  the  other 
vainly  urges  onward.  The  larger  clog  now  fees 
fome  object  that  tempts  him  on  this  fide;  and 
mark  how  he  drags  his  companion  along,  who  is 
exerting  all  his  efforts,  to  purfue*  different  route! 
Thus  they  will  continue  all  day  at  variance,  pulling 
each  other  in  oppofite  directions,  when  they  might, 
by  kind  and  mutual  compliances,  pafs  on  eafily, 
merrily,  and  happily. 

Lucy  and  Emilia  concurred  in  cenfuring  the 
-nature  of  thefe  dogs;  and  Euphronius 
cxpreffed  a  tender  \viih,  that  he  might  never  fee 
any  thing  fimilar  in  their  behaviour  to  each  other. 
"  Nature,"  faid  he,  "  has  linked  you  together,  by 
the  near  equality  of  age  •,  by  your  common  rela- 
tion to  the  moft  indulgent  parents;  by  the  en- 
clearing  ties  of  iifterhoocl;  and  by  all  thofe  ge- 
nerous fympathies,  which  have  been  foftered  in 
your  bofoms,  from  the  earlieft  infancy.  Let 
thefe  filken  cords  of  mutual  love  continue  to  unite 
you,  in  the  fame  purfuits.  Suffer  no  allurements 
to  draw  you  different  ways;  no  contradictory 
paffions  to  diftracl  your  friend  ihipj  nor  any 
,  or  fordid  jealoufies,  to  render  thofe 


io6  IntroduEtion,  &c.  Part  I. 

bonds  uneafy  and  oppreflive,   which  are  now  your 
ornament,  your  ftrength,  and  your  happinefs." 

PERCIVAL. 

SECTION     III. 
The  Supreme  Ruler  of  the  world. 

MANY  kingdoms,  and  countries  full  of  people, 
and  iflands,  and  large  continents,  and  different 
climes,  make  up  this  whole  world  :  God  governs 
it.  The  people  fwarm  upon  the  face  of  it  like 
ants  upon  a  hillock.  Some  are  black  with  the  hot 
fun;  iorne  cover -themfelves  with  furs  againft  the 
fharp  cold;  fotne  drink  of  the  fruit  of  the  vine;; 
fome  the  pleafant  milk  of  the  cocoa-nut  ;  and 
others  quench  their  third  with  the  running  ftream. 
All  are  GodY 'family  ;  he  knows  every  one  of 
them,  as  a  fhepherd  knows  his  flock.  They  pray 
to  him  in  different  languages,  but  he  underftands 
them  all ;  he  hears  them  all  \  he  takes  care  of  all: 
none  are  fo  great,  that  he  cannot  punifh  them ; 
none  are  fo  mean,  that  he  will  not  protect  them. 

Negro  woman,  who  fltteft  pining  in  captivity, 
and  weepeft  over  thy  fick  child;  though  no  one 
'  fees  thee,  God  fees  thee ;  though  no  one  pities 
thee,  God  pities  thee.  Raife  thy  voice,  forlorn 
and  abandoned  one  v  call  upon  him  from  amidft 
thy  bonds  ;  for  affuredly  he  will  hear  thee. — 
Monarch,  that  ruleft  over  a  hundred  fbtes  ;  whole 
frown  is  terrible  as  death,  and  whofe  armies  cover 
the  land,  boaft  not  thyfeif  as  though  there  were 
none  above  thee.  God  is  above  thee  •,  his  pov. 


t,kap.   6.  Promifcuous  Pieces.  107 

ful  arm  is  always  over  thee  ;   and  if  thou  doeft  ill, 
affuredly  he  will  punilh  tL 

Nations  of  the  earth,  fear  the  Lord  ;  families  of 
men,  call  upon  the  name  of  your  God.  Is  there, 
any  one  whom  God  hath  not  madesfr  iffhim  not 
worlhip  him.  Is  there  any  one  whom  he  hath  not 
bleffed  ?  let  him  not  praife  hi 

BARBAUI.  r. 

SECTION     IV. 

AbraLvn  and   Lot  :   a  fne  e.\  w  if  Jem   and 

condt'scr 

DOMESTIC  altercations  began  to  perplex  fami- 
lies in  the  very  childhood  of  time;  the  blood  even 
of  a  brother  was  fhcd,  .  riod.  Uut 

with  how  much   tend  :ie    does 

Abraham    prevent    the    d  which    had 

nearly  arifcn,  as  is  but  too  frequently  the  cafe, 
from  the  quarrels  of  fervants!  Ik-  laid  unto  Lotf 
"  I  pray  thee  let  there  be  no  ft  rife  betwixt  me  and 
thee,  nor  between  my  herd  men  and  thine."  And 
why?  For  the  tendered  reafon  that  can  be:  "  bo 
caufe,  we  are  brethren."  The  very  image  of  the 
patriarch  in  the  attitude  of  entreaty,  the  fraternal 
tear  juft  ftarting  from  his  eye,  is  this  moment  be- 
fore me  :  and  thus,  methinks,  I  catch  infrruction 
from  the  lip  of  the  venerable  inan,  as  he  addrefTes 
Lot.  "  Away,  my  clear  brother,  away  with  ftrife: 
born  to  be  the  fervants  of  God,  and  the 
companions  of  each  other  :  as  we  fprang  from  the 
.\rcnt,  fo  we  naturally  partake  of  the  £. 


io£  Introduction t    &c.  Part  i. 

affections.  We  are  brethren,  fons  of  the  fame 
father  :  \ve  are  friends;  for  furely  kindredfhip 
fhould  be  the  moft  exalted  friendship.  Let  us  not 
then  difagree,  becaufe  our  herdmen  have  dif- 
agreed  ;*Hh&t  that  were  to  encourage  every  idle 
pique,  and  fenfelefs  animofity.  Great,  indeed, 
has  been  our  fuccefs  (ince  our  migration  into  this 
fair  country:  we  have  much  fubftance,  and  much 
cattle.  But  what !  (hall  brothers  quarrel,  becaufe 
it  has  pleafed  Heaven  to  profper  them?  This 
would  be  ingratitude,  impiety!  But  if,  notwith- 
ftanding  thefe  perfuafives,  thy  fpirit  is  ftill 
troubled,  let  us  feparate:  rather  than  contend  with 
a.  brother,  I  would,  hard  as  it  is,  even  part  with 
him  for  a  time.  Perhaps  the  occafion  of  dispute 
(which  I  have  already  forgotten  )  will  foon  be  no 
more  remembered  by  thee.  Is  not  the  whole  land 
before  thee  ?  Take  then  rny  bleffing  and  my  em- 
brace, and  feparate  thyfelf  from  me.  To  thee  is 
fubmitted  the  advantage  of  choice  ;  if  thou  wilt 
take  the  left  hand,  then,  that  I  may  not  appear  to 
thwart  thee  unbrotherly,  I  will  take  the  right  \  or, 
if  thou  art  more  inclined  to  the  country  which  lies 
upon  the  right,  then  will  I  go  to  the  left.  Be  it 
as  thou  wilt,  and  whitherfoever  thou  goeft,  happy 
mayft  thou  be!" 

Lot  liftened  to  his  brother,  and  departed.  He 
caft  his  eyes  on  the  well-watered  plains  of  Jordan. 
"When  he  feparated,  it  appears  to  have  been 
with  the  hope  of  increafing  his  wealth  :  whilft 
Abraham,  actuated  by  the  kindeft  motives,  often, 
no  doubt,  preiTed  his  brother's  hand-,  and  often 
bade  him  adieu;  and  even  followed  him  to  repent 


pt  6.  Promifcu&us  Pieces.  io<j 

his  farewell  \vifties,  ere  he  could  fuffer  him  to  de- 
part. 

-SECTION   v. 

¥  ~ 
A  pcrfecutmg  fpirit  reproved. 

ARAM  was  fitting  at  the  door  of  his  tent,  under 
the  (hade  of  his  fig-tree,  when  it  came  to  pafs  that 
a  man,   ftricken  with  years,  bearing  a  ftaiT  in  his 
hand,  journeyed  that  way.      And  it  was  noon  day. 
And  Aram  faid  unto  the  ftranger ;   "  Pafs  not  by, 
I  pray  thee,   but  come  in,   and  wafli  thy  feet,   and 
tarry  here  until  the  evening;   for  thou  art  ftritken 
with  years,   and  the  heat  overcometh  thee."      And 
the  ftranger  left  his  ftaff  at  the  door,   and  entered 
into   the   tent   of  Aram.      And  he  refted  himfelf: 
and  Aram  fet  before  him  bread,   and  cakes  of  fine 
meal,   baked  upon  the  hearth.      And  Aram  blotted 
the  bread,  calling  upon  the  name  of  the  Lord. 
the  ftranger  did  eat,   and  refufed  to  pray  unto 
Moft   High;   faying,   "  Thy  Lord   is  not   the 
God  of  my  fathers;   why  therefore  fhould  I  prc- 
fent  my  vows  unto  him?"      And  Aram's  wrntli  was 
kindled  ;    aud  he  called  his  fervar.ts,   and  they  be.Vj 
the  ftranger,    ancLydrove  him  into   the  wildernefs. 
Now  in  the  evening,  Aram  lifted  up  his  voice  unto 
the  Lord,   and  prayed  unto  him.      And   the  Lord 
faid,   "  Aram,   where  is  the  ftranger  that  fojourned 
>   day   with   thee  ?"   And   Aram   anfwered    and 
: ;    "  Behold,  O  Lord!  he  eat  of  thy  bread,  and 
ild  not  offer  unto  thee  his  prayers  and  thnnks- 
Thercfore  did  I  chaftife  him,  and  d> 
L 


no  Introduction)  &c.  Parti. 

him  from  before  me  into  the  wildernefs."  And  the 
Lord  faid  unto  Aram ;  "  Who  hath  made  thee  a 
judge  between  me  and  him?  Have  not  I  borne 
with  thine  iniquities,  and  winked  at  thy  back- 
flidings ;  and  (halt  thou  be  fevere  with  thy  brother, 
to  mark  his  errors,  and  to  punifh  his  perverfenefs  ? 
Arife  and  follow  the  ftranger  ;  and  carry  with  thee 
oil  and  wine,  and  anoint  his  bruifes,  and  fpeak 
kindly  unto  him.  For  I,  the  Lord  thy  God,  am 
a  jealous  God,  and  judgment  belongeth  only  unto 
me.  Vain  is  thine  oblation  of  thankfgiving,*  with- 
out a  lowly  heart.  As  a  bulrulh  thou  mayft  bow- 
down  thine  head,  and  lift  up  thy  voice  like  a 
trumpet;  but  thou  obeyed  not  the  ordinance  of 
thy  God,  if  thy  worfhip  be  for  ftrife  and  debate. 
Behold  the  facrifice  that  I  have  chofen  :  is  it  not  to 
undo  the  heavy  burdens;  to  let  the  opprelTed  go 
free;  and  to  break  every  yoke?  to  deal' thy  bread 
to  the  hungry;  and  to  bring  the  poor,  that  are 
caft  out,  to  thy  houfe  ?"  And  Aram  trembled  be- 
fore the  prefence  of  God.  And  he  arofe,  and  put 
on  fackcloth  and  afhes;  and  went  out  into  the 
wildernefs,  to  do  as  the  Lord  had  commanded 
him.  FERcivAL. 

SECTION    VI. 
The  folly  of  pride. 

IF  there  be  any  thing  which  makes  -human  na- 
ture appear  ridiculous  to  beings  of  superior  facul- 
ties, it  mud  be  pride.  They  know  fo  well  the 
vanity  of  thofe  imaginary  perfections  that  fwell 


Chap.   6.  Prcmifciious  Pieces.  ru 

the  heart  of  man,  and  of  thofe  little  fupernumerary 
advantages  of  birth,  fortune,  or  title,  which  one 
man  enjoys  above  another,  that  it  muft  certainly 
very  much  aftonish,  if  it  does  not  very  much  divert 
them,  when  they  fee  a  mortal  puffed  up,  and  valu- 
ing himfelf  above  his  neighbours,  on  any  of  thcfe 
accounts,  at  the  fame  time  that  he  is  liable  to  all 
the  common  calamities  of  the  fpecies. 

To  fet  this  thought  in  its  true  light,  we  ihall 
fancy,  if  yon  pleaie,  that*  yonder  molehill  isMii- 
habited  by  reafonable  creatures  ;  and  that  every 
pismire  (his  fhape  and  way  of  life  only  exceptcd) 
is  endowed  with  human  pafiions.  How  fliould  we 
fmile  to  hear  one  give  an  account  of  the  pedigrees, 
distinctions,  and  titles,  that  reign  among  them  ! — 
Obierve  how  the  whole  fwarni  divide,  and  make 
way  for  the  pifmire  that  pa  lies  along  !  You  muft 
underftand  he  is  an  emmet  of  quality,  and  has 
better  blood  in  his  veins  than  any  pifmire  in  the 
molehill.  Do  not  you  fee  how  fenlible  he  is  of  it, 
how  flo\v  irches  forward,  how  the  whole  rab- 

ble of  ants   keep  the  .ce  ?   Here    you   may 

one    placed   upon  a   little  eminence,    and 
looking  down  on  a  long  row  of  labourers.      He  is 
t  on  this  Ikle  the  hillock  :  he  In;; 

.ilk  of  half  a  yard  in  length,  and  a  quarter  of 

nch    in  breadth  ;   he  keeps  a  hundred   menkil 

fen  ants,  and  has  at  leaft  fifteen  barley  corns  in  his 

He  is    now   chiding  and    enflaving   the 

cm  met  that   (lands    before   him,  one  who,  for   all 

can   difcover,   is  as   good   an    emmet   as 

here  comes  an  infcft  of  rank  !   Do  not  you 


Hi*  Introduction)  &c.  fart >. 

perceive  the  little  white  ftraw  that  he  carries  in  his 
mouth  ?  That  ftraw,  you  muft  underftand,  he 
would  not  part  with  for  the  longeft  tract  about  the 
molehill  :  you  cannot  conceive  what  he  has  under- 
gone to  purchaie  it  !  See  how  the  ants  of  all  qua- 
lities and  conditions  fwarm  about  him  !  Should  this 
ftraw  drop  out  of  his  mouth,  you  would  fee  all  this 
numerous  circle  of  attendants  follow  the  next  that 
took  it  up  ;  and  leave  the  difcarded  infect,  or  run 
o.ver  his  back  to  come  to  his  fucccfTor. 

If  now  you  have  a  mind  to  fee  the  ladies  of  the 
molehill,  obierve  first  the  pifmire  that  liftens  to  the 
emmet  on  her  left  hand,  at  the  fame  time  that  flie. 
feems  to  turn  away  her  head  from  him.  He  tells 
this  poor  insect,  that  she  is  a  superior  being  ;  that 
Tier  eyes  are  brighter  than  the  fun  ;  that  life  and 
death  are  at  her  difpofal.  She  believes  him,  and 
gives  herfelf  a  thoufand  little  airs  upon  it. — Mark 
the  vanity  of  the  pifmire  on  her  right  hand.  She 
can  fcarcely  crawl  with  age  •,  but  you  muft  know 
ihe  values  herfelf  upon  her  birth  •,  and,  if  you 
mind,  fpurns  at  every  one  that  comes  wkhin  her 
reach.  The  little  nimble  coquette  that  ;s  running 
by  the  fide  of  her,  is  a  wit.  She  has  broken 
many  a  pismire's  heart.  Do  but  obferve  what  a 
drove  of  admirers  are  running  after  her. 

We  fhall  here  finifh. this  imaginary  fcene.  But 
iirft  of  all,  to  draw  the  parallel  clofer,  we  fhall  fup- 
pofe,  if  you  pleafe,  that  death  comes  down  upon 
the  molehill,  in  the  fhape  of  a  cock-fparrow  ;  and 
picks  up,  without  diftinction,  the  pifmire  of  quality 
vind  his  flatterers,  the  pifmire  of  fubftance  and  his 
.day-labourers,  the  white  ftraw-officer  aod  his  fyco- 


.   6.  Promi/awm  Pieces.  1 1  ^ 

phants,  with  all  the  ladies  of  rank,  the  V'hich  he 
the  beauties  of  the  molehill.  orifon  ; 

May  we  not  imagine,  that  beings  of  fupe^r  his 
tures  and  perfections  regard  all  the  m(foi 
pride  and  vanity  among  our  own  fpecitfi  of  the 
fame  kind  of  view,  when  they  take  a  them  by 
thofe  who  inhabit  this  earth  ;  or,  (in  the  value  of 
of  an  ingenious  trench  poet,")  of  thd  for  their 
that  people  this  heap  of  dirt,  which  huRANKLm. 
has  divided  into  climates  and  regions  ? 


SECTION   VII. 

The 


WH  FN  I  was  a  cMld  about  ftven  years  of  age,  my 

friends,  on  a  holiday,    filled  my  pocket  with   half- 

pence      I    went    directly   towards    a    fhop    where 

toys    were  fold    for  children  ;  and    being   charmed 

with  the  found  of  a  whiftle  that  1  met  by  the  way, 

in  the  hands  of  another  boy,  I  voluntarily  offered 

him  all    my   money   for   it.  ,;  I  then    came  home, 

and   went    whiftling  .over  the  houfe,  much  ple;ifed 

with    my    <whijlh,    but    difturbing   all   the  ^family. 

My  brother*,  and  fitters,  and  cou(ins,   underftand- 

the  bargain   I  had  made,  told  me  1    had  given 

four  times  as  much  foj:  it    as  it  was  worth       This 

put  me   in  mind  what   good   things  I   might    have 

:ht    with    the    reft  of  the    money  ;   and    they 

;it  me  so  much  for  my   folly,  that   I  cried 

xation.        My    reflections   on    the    fubjcct 

more  chagrin  than  the    ivlljlle  gave  i 

L  2 


i  i  *  IntroduBioHy    &c.  Part  i . 

perce.  This  little  event,  however,  was  after- 
niouttf  ufe  to  me,  the  impreffion  continuing  on 
xvouiid:  fo  that  often,  when  I  was  tempted  to 
mole,-  unneceffary  thing,  I  faid  to  myfelf,  Do 
gone  \  ;  much  for  the  ivhiftle  ;  and  fo  I  faved  my 
ikies  ai 

flfaw  urrew  up,  came  into  the  world,  and  ob- 
numero.  actions  of  men,  I  thought  I  .met  with 
tpok  it  v-y  many,  who  gave  too  much  for  the 
o.yer  his 

If  nox  faw  any  one  too  ambitious  of  court- 

molehacrificing  his  time  in  attendance  on  levees, 

/repofe,  his  liberty,  his  virtue,   and  perhaps  his 

friends,   to  attain    it,  I    faid   to  myfelf,   This  man 

gives  too  rniich  for  his  *whijlle. 

When  I  faw  another  fond  of  popularity,  con- 
ftaritly  employing  himfelf  in  piMtical  buftles,  neg~ 
letting  his  own  affairs,  and  ruining  them  by  that 
negledlj  He  pays  indeed ',  faid  I,  too  much  for  his 


If  I  knew  a  mifer,  who  gave  up  every  kind  of 
comfortable  living,  all  the  pleafure  of  doing  good 
to  others,  all  the  efteem  of  his  fellow-citbens,  and 
the  joys  of  benevolent  friendfhip,  for  the  fake  of 
accumulating  wealth;  Poor  man  !  faid  I,  you  indeed 
pay  too  much  for  your  fwh[ftle. 

When  I  met  a  man  of  pleafure,  facrificing 
every  laudable  improvement  of  mind,  or  of  for- 
tune, to  mere  fenfual  gratifications  ;  Miflakeji 
man  /  faid  I,  you  are  providing  pain  for  yourfelfy 
jnjlead  of  pleafure ;  you  give  too  much  for  your 
•Mhijlie. 

If  I  faw  "one  fond  of  fine  clothes,  fine  furniture. 


Chap.   6.  Prcnrifcuot4S  Pieces.  115 

fine  equipages,  all  above  his  fortune,  for  which  he 
contracted  debts,  and  ended  his  career  in  prifon  \ 
Alas  !  faid  I,  he  has  paid  dear,  very  dear  for  his 
ivhiftle. 

In  (hort,  I  conceived  that  great  part  of  the 
miferies  of  mankind,  are  brought  upon  them  by 
the  falfe  eftimate  they  make  of  the  value  of 
things,  and  by  their  giving  too  much  for  their 

DR.     FRANKLIN. 

SECTION     VIII. 

cneroua  mind  does  not  refiine  at  the  advantages  oi' 
enjoy* 

BP  charming,  ever  new, 

:i  will  the  landscape  tire  the  view  1 
Th>  k'a  full,  the  river's  flow, 

The  woody  vallies,  warm  and  low  ; 
The  windy  summit,  wild  and  higlj| 
Roughly  rushing  on  the  sky; 
The  pleasant  scat,  the  ruin'd  tower, 
The  naked  rock,  the  shady  bower, 
The  town  and  village,  dome  and  farm, 
Each  gives  each  a  double  charm.  DYER. 

Alexis  was  repeating  thefe  lines  to  Euphronius, 
who  was  reclining  upon  a  feat  in  one  of  his  fields, 
enjoying  the  real  beauties  of  nature  which  the  poet 
describes.  The  evening  was  ferene,  and  the 
landfcape  appeared  in  all  the  gay  attire  of  light  and 
"  A  man  of  lively  imagination,"  faid  Eu- 
phronius, "  has  a  property  in  every  thing  which 


no  Introduction y  feV.  Partis 

he  fees:  and  you  may  now  conceive  yourfelf  to 
be  the,  proprietor  of  the  vaft  expanfe  around  us; 
and  exult  in  the  happinefs  of  myriads  of  living 
creatures,  who  inhabit  the  woods,  the  lawns,  and 
the  mountains,  which  prefent  themfelves  to  our 
view."  The  houfe,  garden,  and  pleafure  grounds 
of  Eugenic,  formed  a  part  of  the  profpecV:  and 
Alexis  exprefTed  a  jocular  wifh,  that  he  had  more 
than  an  imaginary  property  in  thofe  poiTeffions. 
"  Baniih  the  ungenerous-defire,"  faid  Euphronius; 
•*'  for  if  you  indulge  fuch  emotions  as  thefe,-  your 
heart  will  foon  become  a  prey  to  envy  and  difcon- 
tent.  Enjoy,  with  gratitude,  the  bleffings  which 
you  have  received  from  the  liberal  hand  of  Provi- 
dence; increafe  them,  if  you  can  with  honour  and 
credit,  by  a  diligent  attention  to  the  buiinefs  for 
which  you  are  deflgned;  and  though  your  own 
cup  may  not  be  filled,  rejoice  that  your  neigh- 
bour's overflows  with  plenty.  Honour  the  abilities; 
and  emulate  the  virtues  of  Eugenio  :  but  repine 
not  that  hcPMs  wifer,  richer,  or  more  powerful, 
than  yourfelf.  His  fortune  is  expended  in  acls  of 
humanity,  generoiity,  and  hofpitaiity.  His  fupe- 
rior  talents  are  applied  to  the  iniiruclion  of  his 
children;  to  the  affiftance  of  his  friends;  to  the 
encouragement  of  agriculture,  and  of  every  ufeful 
art;  and  to  fupport  the  caufe  of  liberty  and  tiie 
rights  of  mankind.  And  his  power  is  exerted  to 
punilh  the  guilty,  to  protect  the  innocent,  to  re- 
ward the  good,  and  to  diftrihute  juftice,  with  an 
equal  hand,  to  all.  i  feel  the  affection  of  a  bro- 
ther for  Eugenio;  and  efteem  myfelf  fingularly 
happy  in  his  friendfhip."  PERCIVAL, 


Cftap-  Promjfcucus  Pieces.  117 


SECTION     IX. 

Infolent  deportment  towards  inferiors  reproved. 

SACCHARISSA  was  about  fifteen  years  of  age. 
Nature  had  given  her  a  high  ipirit,  and  education 
had  foftered  it  into  pride  and  haughtinefs.  This 
temper  was  difplayed  in  every  little  competition, 
which  fhe  had  with  her  companions.  She  could 
not  brook  the  leaft  oppofition  from  thofe  whom 
(he  regarded  as  her  inferiors  j  and,  if  they  did  not 
inftantly  fubmit  to  her  inclination,  ihe  afTumed  all 
her  airs  of  dignity,  and  treated  them  wkh  the  moil 
fupercilious  contempt.  She  domineered  over  .her 
father's  fervants;  always  commanding  their  good 
offices  with  the  voice  of  authority,  and  difdaining 
the  gentle  language  of  requeft.  Euphronius  was 
one  day  walking  with  her,  when  the  gardener 
brought  her  a  nofegay,  which  (lie  had  odMkd  him 
to  coileft.  "  Blockhead  !"  ihe  cried,  Wlie  de- 
livered it  to  her;  "  what  ftrange  flowers  you  have 
chofen;  and  how  awkwardly  you  have  put  them 
together!"  "  Blame  not  the  man  with  fo  much 
harfhnefs,"  faid  Euphronius,  "  becaufe  his  tafte 
is  different  from  yours!  He  meant  to  pleafe  you, 
and  his  good  intention  merits  your  thanks,  and  not 
your  cenfur  Thanks!''  replied  SacchariiTa, 

fcornfully.  "He  is  paid  for  his  ,r_,ices,  and  it  is 
luty  to  perform  them."  "  And  if  he  does  per- 
form them,  he  acquits  himfclf  of  his  duty/'  re- 
turned Euphronius.  <c  The  obligation  is  fulfilled 
on  his  fide  ;  and  you  have  no  more  right  to  up- 


i  1  8  IiiirodtiftioTii  &c.  Part  I  . 


braid  him  for  executing  your  orders  according  to 
his  beil  ability,  than  he  has  to  claim,  from  your 
father,  more  wages  than  were  covenanted  to  be 
given  him."  "  But  he  is  a  poor  dependent,"  faid 
Sacchariffa,  "  and  earns  a  livelihood  by  his  daily 
labour/'  "  That  livelihood,"  anfwered  Euphro- 
nius,  u  is  the  juft  price  of  his  labour  ;  and  if  he 
receive  nothing  farther  from  your  hands*  the  ac- 
count is  balanced  between  you.  But  a  generous 
perfon  compaffionates  the  lot  of  thofe,  who  are 
obliged  to  toil  for  his  benefit,  or  gratification. 
He  lightens  their  burdens  ;  treats  them  with  kind- 
nefs  and  affection  ;  ftudies  to  promote  their  intereft 
and  happinefs  ;  and,  as  much  as  poffible,  conceals 
ff'om  them  their  fervitude,  and  his  iuperioriry. 
On  the  distinctions  of  rank  and  fortune,  he  does 
not  fet  too  high  a  value  :  and  though  the  circurn- 
ftances  of  life  require,  that  there  fhould  be  hewers 
of  wood,  and  drawers  of  water,  yet  he  forgets  not 
f  hat  mankind  are  by  nature  equal  ;  all  being  the 
offspring  of  God,  the  Subjects  of  his  moral  govern- 
ment, and  joint  heirs  of  immortality,  A  conduct 
directed  by  fuch  principles,  gives  a  mafter  claims, 
which  no  money  can  pur  chafe,  no  labour  can 
repay.  His  affection  can  only  be  compenfated 
by  love  ;  his  kindnefs,  by  gratitude  ;  and  his  cor- 
diality, by  the  fervice  of  the  heart." 

PERCIVAL.- 


Cbap.   6.  Prcmifcuous  Pieces. 


SECTION   X. 

Arachne  and  Melffa  ,•  ory  the  happinefs  of  cultivating 
a  good  temper. 

A  GOOD  temper  is  one  of  the  principal  ingredi- 
ents of  happinefs.  This,  it  will  be  faid,  is  the 
work  of  nature,  and  muft  be  born  with  us:  and  fp, 
in  a  good  meafure,  it  is;  yet  it  may  be  acquired  by 
art,  and  improved  by  culture.  Almoft  every  ob- 
ject that  attracts  our  notice,  has  a  bright  and  a 
dark  fide.  He  that  habituates  himielf  to  look  at 
the  difpleafing^de,  will  four  his  difpolition,  and 
inently  impair  his  happinefs  ;  while  he  who 
beholds  it  on  the  bright  fide,  infenfibly  meliorates 
his  temper  -,  and,  by  this  means,  improves  his  own 
happinefs,  and  the  happinefs  of  all  about  him. 

Arachne  and  Melifla  are  two  friends.  They  are 
alike  in  birth,  fortune,  education,  and  accomplifh- 
ments.  They  were  originally  alike  in  temper  tooj 
but  by  different  management,  are  grown  the  re- 
verfe  of  each  other.  Arachne  has  accuftomed 
herfelf  to  look  only  on  the  dark  fide  of  every  ob- 
ject. If  a  new  literary  work  makes  its  appearance, 
with  a  thoufand  beauties,  and  but  one  or  two  ble- 
mifhes,  flie  (lightly  fkims  over  the  pafTages  that 
fliould  give  her  pleafure,  and  dwells  upon  thofe 
only  that  fill  her  with  diflike.  If  you  fhow  her  an 
excellent  portrait,  fhe  looks  at  fome  part  of  the 
drapery,  that  has  been  neglected,  or  to  a  hand  or 
finger  which  has  been  left  unfiniilied.  Her  garden 
i~.  a  very  beautiful  one,  and  kept  with  great  neat- 


12O  ItitwduSfU&i  &c.  Part  i. 

nefs  and  elegance;  but  if  you  take  a  walk  with  her 
into  it,  fhe  talks  to  you  of  nothing  but  blights  and 
ftorms,  of  fnails  and  caterpillars,  and  how  impos- 
fibie  it  is  to  keep  it  from  the  litter  of  falling  leaves, 
and  worm  cafts.  If  you  fit  down  in  one  of  her 
temples,  to  enjoy  a  delightful  profpecl:,  fhe  ob- 
ferves  to  you,  that  there  is  too  much  wood,  or  too 
little  water-,  that  the  day  is  too  funny,  or  too 
gloomy;  that  it  is  fultry  or  windy;  and  finifhes 
with  along  harangue  upon  the  wretchednefs  of  our 
climate.  When  you  return  with  her  to  the  com- 
pany, in  hopes  of  a  little  cheerful  conversation, 
fhe  cafts  a  gloom  over  all,  by  giving  you  the  his- 
tory of  her  own  bad  health,  or  of  fome  melancholy 
accident  that  has  befallen  one  of  her  children. 
Thus  fhe  infenfibly  links  her  own  fpirits,  and  the 
fpirits  of  all  around  her  ;  and  at  laft  difcovers,  fhe 
knows  not  why,  that  her  friends  are  grave. 

MeluTa  is  the  reverfe  of  all  this.  By  habituating 
herfelf  to  look  on  the  bright  fide  of  objects,  fhe 
preferves  a  perpetual  cheerfulnefs  in  herfelf,  which, 
by  a  kind  of  happy  contagion,  fhe  communicates 
to  all  about  her.  If  any  misfortune  has  befallen 
her,  fhe  confiders  that  it  might  have  been  worfe, 
and  is  thankful  to  Providence  for  an  efcape.  She 
rejoices  in  folitude,  as  it  gives  her  an  opportunity 
of  knowing  herfelf;  and  in  fociety,  becaufe  fhe 
communicates  the  happinefs  fhe  enjoys.  She  op- 
pofes  every  man's  virtues  to  his  failings,  and  can 
find  out  fomething  to  cherifh  and  applaud,  in  the 
very  word  of  her  acquaintance.  She  opens  every 
book  with  a  defire  to  be  entertained  or  instructed, 
and  therefore  feldom  miiTes  what  fhe  looks  for. — 


Lhap.   6.  Promlfciious  Pieces*  121 

Walk  with  her,  though  it  be  but  on  a  heath  or  :• 
common,  and  fhe  will  difcover  numberlefs  beau- 
ties, unobferved  before,  in  the  hills,  the  dales, 
the  brooms,  brakes,  and  the  variegated  flowers  of 
weeds  and  poppies.  She  enjoys  every  change  of 
.iher,  and  of  feafon,  as  bringing  with  it  ibme 
advantages  of  health  or  convenience.  In  conver- 
fation,  you  never  hear  her  repeating  her  own 
grievances,  or  thofe  of  her  neighbours,  or  ( what 
is  worft  of  all)  their  faults  and  imperfections.  If 
any  thing  of  the  latter  kind  be  mentioned  in  her 
hearing,  ihe  has  the  addrefs  to  turn  it  into  enter- 
tainment, by  changing  the  molt  odious  railing 
into  a  pleafant^aillery.  Thus  Mclifla,  like  the 
bee,  gathers  honey  from  every  weed  ;  while 
Arachne,  like  tl,  r,  fucks  poifon  from  the 

faircft  flowers.  The  confequence  is,  that  of  two 
tempers,  once  very  nearly  allied,  the  one  is  for 
ever  four  and  diflatisfied  ;  the  other  always  pteafed 
and  cheerful ;  the  one  fpreads  a  univerfal  gloom  ; 
the  other  a  continual  funlhine. 

WORLD. 

SECTION     tfl. 

a OCR ATE S     AND     LEAND. 
Dtsrefpeft  to  parents^  is  in  no  cafe  allowable. 

.NDER,    the    eldeft    fon    of  Socrates,    fell 

into  a  violent   paflion  with  his  mother       Socrates 

was   witnefs  to  this  fliameful    mifbehaviour,   and 

attempted  the  correction  of   it    in  the  following 

M 


IntroditQifafa&c.  Part  i. 

gentle  and  rational  manner.  "  Come  hither,  fon," 
laid  he,  "  have  you  never  heard  of  men  who  are 
called  ungrateful  ?"  "  Yes,  frequently,"  anfwered 
the  youth,"  "  And  what  is  ingratitude  ?"  demanded 
Socrates.  "  It  is  to  receive  a  kindnefs,"  faid  Lean- 
der,  "  without  making  a  proper  return,  when 
there  is  a  favourable  opportunity."  "  Ingratitude 
is  therefore  a  fpecies  of  injuftice,"  laid  Socrates. 
'"  I  fhouid  think  fo,"  anfwered  Leander.  "  If 
then,"  purfued  Socrates,  "  ingratitude  be  in- 
juftice, does  it  not  follow,  that  the  degree  of  it, 
muft  be  proportionate  to  the  magnitude  of  the 
favours  which  have  been  received  ?"  Leander 
admitted  the  inference  •,  and  Socrates  thus  purfued 
his  interrogations.  "  Can  there  fubiift  higher 
obligations  than  thofe  which  children  owe  to  their 
parents  j  from  whom  life  is  derived  and  fupported, 
and  by  vvhofe  good  offices,  it  is  rendered  honour- 
able, ufeful,  and  happy  ?"  "  I  acknowledge  the 
truth  of  what  you  fay,"  replied  Leander  5  "  but 
who  could  fuffer,  without  refentment,  the  ill  hu- 
mours of  fuch  a  mother  as  I  have  ?''  "  What 
flrange  thing  has  fhe  done  to  you  ?"  faid  Socrates. 
"  She  has  a  tongue/'  replied  Leander,  "  that 
no  mortal  can  bear."  "  How  much  more,"  faid 
Socrates,  "  has  fhe  endured  from  your  wrangling, 
fretfulnefs,  and  inceflant  cries,  in  the  period  of  in- 
fancy !  What  anxieties  has  flie  fuffered  from  the  le- 
vities, capriciousnefs,  and  follies,  of  your  childhood 
and  youth  !  What  affliction  has  (he  felt,  what  toil 
and  watching  has  ihe  fuftained,  in  your  illnefTes  ! 
Thefe,  and  various  other  powerful  motives  to  filial 
duty  and  gratitude,  have  been  recognifed  by  the 


.    6.  Protmfcuous  Pieces.  I.2J 

legiflators  of  our  republic.  For  if  any  one  be  dif- 
refpe&ful  to  his  parents,  he  is  not  permitted  to 
enjoy  any  poft  of  truft  or  honour.  It  is  believed 
that  a  facrifice,  offered  by  an  impious  hand,  can 
neither  be  acceptable  to  Heaven,  nor  profitable  to 
the  ftate;  and  that  an  undutiful  ion  cannot  be  ca- 
pable of  performing  any  great  aftion,  or  of  execut- 
ing juftice  with  impartiality.  Therefore,  my  fon, 
if  you  be  wife,  you  will  pray  to  Heaven  to  pardon 
the  offences  committed  againft  your  mother.  Let 
no*  one  diicover  the  contempt  with  which  you  have 
treated  her ;  for  the  world  will  condemn,  and 
abandon  you  for  fuch  behaviour.  And  if  it  be 
even  fuip.ct.cd,  that  you  repay  with  ingratitude 
the  good  offices  of  your  parents,  you  will  inevi- 
tably forego  the  kindneffes  of  others  ;  becaufe  no 
man  will  fuppofe,  that  you  have  a  heart  to  requite 
either  his  favours  or  his  friendlhip." 

PERCI  V  AL. 
SECTION    XII. 
SOCRATT*     AND     DEMETRIUS. 

Brethren  fiould  dive//  together  in  harmony. 

Two  brothers,  named  Timon  and  Demetrius, 
having  quarrelled  with  each  other,  Socrates,  their 
common  friend,  was  folicitous  to  reftore  amity  be- 
tween them.  Meeting,  therefore,  with  Demetrius, 
he  thus  accofted  him  :  "  Is  not  friendfliip  the 
Aveeteft  folace  in  adveriity,  and  the  greateft  en- 
:emem  of  the  bleflings  of  profperity  ?"  •"  Cer-  *: 


_4  Introduction^  $3c.  Part  i. 

tainly  it  is,"    replied   Demetrius;    "  becaufe   our 
forrows  are  diminifhed,   and  our  joys  increafed  by 
fympathetic  participation."       "  Amongft    whom, 
then,   muft  we  look  for  a  friend  ?"  faid  Socrates. 
"  Would  you  fearch  among  ft  rangers  ?   They  can- 
not be  interefted   about  you.      Amongft   your  ri- 
vals?   They    have     an    intereft    in    oppofition   to 
yours.       Amongft  thofe  who  are  much    older,  or 
younger,  than  yourfelf?  Their  feelings  and   pur- 
fuits    will   be  widely   different    from   yours.      Are 
there   not,   then,  fome    circumftances  favourable, 
and  others   effential,  to  the  formation  of  friend- 
fhip  ?''   "  Undoubtedly  there  are/'  anfwered  De- 
metrius.     "  May  we   not   enumerate/'  continued 
Socrates,   *c  amongft  the  circtunftances  favourable 
to    friendfhip,   long   acquaintance,    common  con- 
nexions, fimilitude  of  age,  and  union  of  intereft  ?" 
"  I  acknowledge,"  faid  Demetrius,  "  the  powerful 
influence    of  thefe    circumftances  :   but  they  may 
fubfift,  and  yet  others  be  wanting,    that  are  effen^ 
tial   to   mutual   amity."      "  And  what,"  faid  So- 
crates, "  are  thofe  effentials  which  are  wanting,   in 
Timon  ?"   u  He   has  forfeited  *^.y  efteem  and    at- 
tachment," anfwered  Demetrius.      "  And  has  he 
alfo  forfeited  the  efteem  and  attachment  of  the  reft 
of  mankind  ?"  continued  Socrates.      "  Is  he  devoid 
of  benevolence,    geaerofity,    gratitude,   and  other 
focial  affections  ?"   "  Far  be  it  from  me,"  cried  De- 
metrius,  "to  lay   fo  heavy  a  charge  upon  him? 
His  conduct  to  others,  is,  I  believe,  irreproachable ; 
and  it  wounds  me  the  more,  that  he  fhould  {ingle 
me  out  as  the  object  of  his  unkindnefs."      ".Sup- 
pofe  you  have   a  very  valuable  horfe,"  refumed 


Chap.  6.  Promifcttous  Pieces.  125 

Socrates,  "  gentle  under  the  treatment  of  others, 
but  ungovernable,  when  you  attempt  to  ufe  him; 
would  you  not  endeavour,  by  all  means,  to  conci- 
liate his  affection,  and  to  treat  him  in  the  way 
moft  likely  to  render  him  tractable?  Or,  if  you 
have  a  dog,  highly  prized  for  his  fidelity,  watch- 
fulnefs,  and  care  of  your  flocks,  who  is  fond  of  your 
fhepherds,  and  playful  with  them,  and  yet  fnarls 
whenever  you  come  in  h's  way ;  would  you  at- 
tempt to  cure  him  of  this  fault  by  angry  looks  or 
words,  Wby  any  other  marks  of  refentmcnt  ?  Yoir 
would  furely  purfue  an  oppofite  courfe  with  him. 
And  is  not  the  friendfhip  of  a  brother  of  far  more 
worth,  than  the  ferviccs  of  P  horie,  or  the  attach- 
ment of  a  dog  ?  Why  then  do  you  delay  to  put  in 
practice  thofe  means,  which  may  reconcile  you  to 
Timon  :"  "  Acquaint  me  with  thofe  means,"  an- 
red  Demetrius,  "  for  I  am  a  ftranger  to  them." 
"  AnAver  me  a  few  quefUons,"  faid  Socrates.  "  If 
vou  defire,  that  one  of  your  neighbours  fhould  in- 
vite you  to  his  feaft,  when  he  ofters  a  facrifice, 
what  courfe  would  you  take  ?" — "  I  would  firfl 
invite  him  to  mine." — "  And  how  would  you  in- 
duce him  to  take  the  charge  of  your  affairs,  when 
you  are  on  a  journey  ?" — "  I  fhould  be  forward  to 
do  the  fame  good  office  to  him,  in  his  abfence." 
— "If  you  be  felicitous  to  remove  a  prejudice, 
which  he  may  have  received  again  ft  you,  how 
would  you  then  behave  towards  him?'7 — "  I  fhould 
<ir  to  convince  him,  by  my  looks,  words, 
and  actions,  that  fuch  prejudice  was  ill  founded." 
"  And  if  he  appeared  inclined  to  reconciliation, 
would  you  reproach  him  with  the  injustice 
M  2 


126  Introduction^  &c.  Parti. 

had  done  you  ?" — "  No,"  anfwered  Demetrius  ; 
"  I  would  repeat  no  grievances."  "  Go,"  faid 
Socrates,  "  and  purfue  that  conduct  towards  your 
brother,  which  you  would  practice  to  a  neighbour. 
His  friendfnip  is  of  ineftimable  worth  ;  and  nothing 
is  more  lovely  in  the  fight  of  Heaven,  than  for 
brethren  to  dwell  together  in  unity. 

PERCIVAL. 


SECTION    XIII. 

On  good-breeding. 

As  learning,  honour,  and  virtue,  are  abfolutely 
neceflary  to  gain  you  the  efteem  and  admiration 
of  mankind,  politenefs  and  good-breeding  are 
equally  neceffary  to  make  you  agreeable  in  con- 
verfation  and  common  life.  Great  talents  are 
above  the  generality  of  the  world,  who  neither 
poffefs  them  themfelves,  nor  judge  of  them  rightly 
in  others  :  but  all  people  are  judges  of  the  fmaller 
talents,  fuch  as  civility,  affability,  and  an  obliging, 
agreeable  addrefs  and  manner  ;  becaufe  they  feel 
the  effects  of  them,  as  making  fociety  eafy  and 
pleating.  Good  fenfe  muft,  in  many  cafes,  de- 
termine good-b1/  ;eding  ;  but  there  are  forne  gene- 
ral rules  of  it.  that  always  hold  true.  For  exam- 
ple, it  is  extremely  rude  not  to  give  proper  atten- 
tion, and  a  civil  anfwer,  when  people  fpeak  to 
you  :  or  to  go  away,  or  be  doing  fomething  elfe, 
while  they  are  fpeaking  to  you  j  for  that  convinces 
them  that  you  defpife  them,  and  do  not  think  it 


Clap.  6.  Pr&mifcuous  Piece".  127 

worth  your  while  to  hear,  or  anfwer,  what  they  fay. 
It  is  alfo  very  rude  to  take  the  beft  place  in  a 
room  ;  or  to  feize  immediately  upon  what  you  like 
at  table,  without  offering  firft  to  help  others  ;  as  if 
you  red  nobody  but  yourlelf.  On  the 

contrary,  you  ihoukl  always  endeavour  to  procure 
all  the  conveniences  you  can,  to  the  people  you  are 
with. 

Be  fides    being    civil,   which     is    abfolutely  ne- 
ceflarvj^ae  perfection   of  good-breeding  i 
civil  wrm     eafe.    and    in   a    becoming  — 

Awkwardnefs  can   proceed  but    from  i  ; 

either  from   not    having    kq>;  .   or 

from  m  nded  to  it.      An  ab- 

folt.  ,   as 

indeed  it  is  for  <  If  an  awkward 

perfon   drinks   tea   or  co  often    fcalds  his 

mouth,  and  lets  cit!'er  tlic  cup  or  the  faucef 
fall,  and  fpills  :  on  his  clothes. 

At  dinner    his  .iwL- \\Mrdn.. -Is  tliitinguiilies  itfelf  par- 
ticularly,  as  he  !i  ro  do.      There,   he  holds 
his  n,    differently  from  other 
h  his  knifir,  to  the  «;rcat  danger  of 
tli    with  his   fork  j   and  puts 

his  fpoon,  which  has  been  in  his  mouth  twenty 
times,  into  the  diflu<  a^ain.  If  he  is  to  carve,  he 
can  't  the  joint;  but  in  his  vain  efforts  to 

cut  through  the  bone,  fcatters  the  iauce  in  every 
body's  face.  He  generally  daubs  himfelf  with 
foup  and  greafe.  though  his  napkin  is  commonly 
ftuck  through  a  button-hole,  and  tickles  his  chin. 
Wl.  in  his  glafs,  and  be- 

ikles   the  company.      Befides  all  this,   he  has 


128  Introduction^  &c.  Part  I. 

ftrange  tricks  and  geftures  ;  fuch  as  fnuffing  up 
his  nofe,  making  faces,  putting  his  fingers  in  his 
nofe,  or  blowing  it,  and  looking  afterwards  in  his 
handkerchief,  fo  as  greatly  to  difguft  the  company. 
His  hands  are  troublefome  to  him,  when  he  has 
not  fomething  in  them  ;  and  he  does  not  know 
where  to  put  them,  but  keeps  them  in  perpetual 
motion.  All  this,  I  own,  is  not  in  any  degree 
criminal  ;  but  it  is  highly  difagreeable  and  ridicu- 
lous in  company ;  and  ought  moft  careftdly  to  be 
guarded  againft,  by  every  one  that  defires  to  pleafe. 

There  is,  likewife,  an  awkwardness  of  expreffion 
and  words  which  ought  to  be  avoided  ;  fuch  as 
falfe  Englifh,  bad  pronunciation,  old  fayings  and 
vulgar  proverbs  ;  which  are  fo  many  proofs  of  a 
poor  education. '  For  example,  if,  inftead  of  faying 
that  taftes  are  different,  and  that  every  man  has 
his  own  peculiar  one,  you  fhould  let  off  a  vulgar 
proverb,  and  fay,  u  That  what  is  one  man's  meat 
is  another  man's  poifon  ;''  or  elfe,  u  Every  one  to 
his  liking,  as  the  good  man  faid  when  he  kifled 
his  cow  ,"  the  company  would  be  perfuaded  that 
you  had  never  aflbciated  with  any  but  low 
perfons. 

To  miftake  or  forget  -names  ;  to  fpenk  of 
"  What-d'ye-call-him,"  |f,  "  Thingum,''  or 
<(  How-d'ye-call  her,"  is  ^ceffively  awkward  and 
vulgar.  To  begin  a  ftory  or  narration,  when  you 
are  not  perfect  in  it,  and:  cannot  go  through  with 
it,  but  are  forced,  poffibiy,  to  fay  in  the  middle 
of  it,  "  I  have  forgotten  the  reft,"  is  very  unplea- 
fant  and  bungling.  One  muft  be  extremely  exact, 
clear,  and  perfpicuous,  in  every  -thing  one  fays  j 


Chap.  6.  P  129 

otherwife,  inrtead  of  entertaining  or  informing 
others,  one  only  tires  and  puzzles  them.  The 
voice  and  manner  of  fpeaking,  too,  are  not  to  be 
Lctcd.  Some  people  aim  •ft  fhut  their  mouths 
when  they  fpeak:  and  mutter  fo,  that  they  are  not 
to  be  underilood  :  others  fpeak  fo  fart,  and  fputter, 
that  they  are  equally  unintelligible.  Some  always 
fpeak  as  loud  as  if  they  were  talking  to  deaf 
people •,  and  others  fo  low,  that  one  cannot  hear 
them.  All  tliefe,  and  many  other  habits,  are 

J   difhr>reeable,   and  arc  to  be   avo; 
by  attention.      You  cannot'  imagine  how  necefTary 
it  is   to  mind    all  theie   little  things.      I  have  \ 
many  people,   with  great  talents,   ill  received,   for 
want  of  having   theie  talents  too-,    ;;nd  others  well 
received,  only  from   their  little  talents,  and  who 
had  no  great  OIK 

SECTION     XIV. 

The  ungrateful  guejl* 

PHILIP,  king  of  Macedon,  is  celebrated  for  an 
aft  of  private  juftice,  which  does  great  honour  to 
his  memory.  A  certain  foldier,  in  the  Macedonian 
army,  had,  in  various  inftances,  diflinguiihed  him- 
felf  by  extraordinary  acts  of  valour  ;  and  had  re- 
ceived many  marks  of  Philip's  approbation  and 
favour.  On  a  particular  occaiion,  this  foldier  em- 
barked on  board  a  veffel,  which  was  wrecked  by  a 
violent  rtorm;  and  he  was  cart  on  the  ihore,  help- 
lefs  and  naked,  with  fcarcely  any  appearance  of 
A  Macedonia*)  whofe  lands  were  contiguous 


130  Introduction,  &c.  Part  I. 

to  the  fea,  came  opportunely  to  be  witnefs  of  his 
diftrefs;  and,  with  the  moft  humane  and  charitable 
tendernefs,  flew  to  the  relief  of  the  unhappy  ftran- 
ger.  He  bore  him  to  his  houfe,  laid  him  in  his 
own  bed,  revived,  cherifhed,  and  comforted  him ; 
and,  for  forty  days,  fupplied  him  freely  with  all 
the  necefiaries  and  conveniences  which  his  languiih- 
ing  condition  could  require.  The  foldier,  thus 
happily  refcued  from  death,  was  inceiTant  in  the 
warmeft  expreflions  of  gratitude  to  his  benefactor; 
allured  him  of  his  intereft  with  the  king;  and  of 
his  determination  to  obtain  for  him,  from  the  royal 
bounty,  the  noble  returns  which  fuch  extra- 
ordinary benevolence  had  merited.  He  was  at 
length  completely  recovered  ;  and  was  fupplied  by 
his  kind  hoft  with  *noney  to  purfue  his  journey. 
After  fome  time,  the  foldier  prefented  himfelf 
before  the  king;  he  recounted  his  misfortunes; 
he  magnified  his  fervices :  and  this  inhuman 
wretch,  who  had  looked  with  an  eye  of  envy  on 
the  poffeffions  of  the  man  by  whom  his  life  had 
been  preferved,  was  fo  devoid  of  gratitude,  and 
of  every  humane  fentiment,  as  to  requeft  that  the 
king  would  beftow  upon  him  the  houfe  and  lands, 
where  he  had  been  fo  tenderly  and  kindly  enter- 
tained. Unhappily  Philip,  witfoput  examination, 
precipitately  granted  his  infamous  requeft.  The 
foldier  then  returned  to  his  preferver;  and  repaid 
his  goodnefs  by  driving  him  from  his  fettlement, 
and  taking  immediate  pofleffion  of  all  the  fruits  of 
his  honeft  induftry.  The  poor  man,  ftung  with 
fuch  an  inftance  of  unparalleled  ingratitude  and 
infenflbility,  boldly  determined,  inftead  of  fubmit- 


Lhap.  o.  Promifcuotis  Pieces.  131 

ting  to  his  wrongs,  to  feek  relief :  and,  in  a  letter 
addrefTed  to  Philip,  reprefented  his  own,  and  the 
foldier's  conduct,  in  a  lively  and  affecting  manner. 
The  king  was  inftantly  fired  with  indignation.  He 
ordered  that  ample  juftict  fhould  be  done  without 
delay ;  that  the  pofTeffions  Humid  be  immediately 
reftored  to  the  man  whofe  charitable  offices  had 
been  thus  horridly  repaid  •,  and,  to  fhow  his  ab- 
horrence of  the  deed,  he  caufed  the  foldier  to  be 
feized,  and  to  have  thcfe  words  branded  on  his 
forehead— "  The  Ungrateful  Guefl." 

GOLDSMITH. 
SECTION     \ 

The  hfpttal  m. 

THE  enterprifing  traveller,  INTungo  T'ark,  was 
employed,  by  the  African  Aflbcianon,  to  explore 
the  interior  regions  of  Africa.  In  this  hazardous 
undertaking,  he  encountered  ninny  dangers  and 
difficulties.  His  wants  were  often  fuppliecl,  and 
his  diftrefles  alleviated,  by  the  kindnefs  and  com- 
paffion  of  the  negroes.  He  gives  the  following 
lively  and  interefting  account  of  the  hofpitable 
treatment  he  received  from  a  poor  negro  woman. 

'*  Being  arrived  at  Sego,  the  capital  of  the 
kingdom  of  Bambarra,  fltuatcd  on  the  banks  of 
the  Niger,  I  wifhed  to  pafs  over  to  that  part  of 
the  town  in  which  the  king  refides  :  but  from  the 
number  of  perfons  eager  to  obtain  a  pafTage,  I 
was  under  the  neceffity  of  waiting  two  hours. 
During  this  time,  the  people  who  had  crofTed 


132  .'Introduction,  feV.  Part  I, 

river,  carried  information  to  Manfong,  the  king, 
that  a  white  man  was  waiting  for  a  pafTage,  and 
was  coming  to  fee  him.  He  immediately  fent 
over  one  of  his  chief  men,  who  informed  me  that 
the  king  could  not  poflibly  fee  me,  until  he  knew 
what  had  brought  me  into  his  country  ;  and  that  I 
muft  not  prefume  to  crofs  the  river  without  the 
king's  permiffion.  He  therefore  advifed  me  to 
lodge,  for  that  night,  at  a  diftant  village  to  which 
he  pointed  j  and  faid  that,  in  the  morning,  he 
would  give  me  further  inftructions  how  to  con- 
duct myself-  This  was  very  difcouraging.  How- 
ever, as  there  was  no  remedy,  I  fet  off  for  the 
village  -,  where  I  found,  to  my  great  mortification, 
that  no  perfon  would  admit  me  into  his  houfe, — 
From  prejudices  infufed  into  their  minds,  I  was 
regarded  with  aftonifhment  and  fear  ;  and  was  obli- 
ged to  lit  the  whole  day  without  victuals,  in  the 
jQiade  of  a  tree. 

The  night  threatened  to  be  very  uncomfortable; 
for  the  wind  rofe,  and  there  was  great  appearance 
jpf  a  heavy  rain  :  the  wild  beafts  too  were  fo  nu- 
merous in  the  neighbourhood,  that  I  fhould  have 
been  under  the  neceffity  of  climbing  up  the  tree, 
and  refting  among  the  branches.  About  fun- fet, 
however,  as  I  was  preparing  to  pafs  the  night  in  this 
manner,  and  had  turned  my  horfe  loofe,  that  he 
might  graze  at  liberty,  a  negro  woman,  return- 
ing from  the  labours  of  the  field,  flopped  to  ob- 
ferve  me  :  and  perceiving  that  I  was  weary  and 
dejected,  inquired  into  myfituation.  I  briefly  ex- 
plained it  to  her ;  after  which,  with  looks  of 
great  compaffion,  {he  took  up  my  faddJe  and 


Chap.  6.  Promlfcuous  Pieces.  133 

bridle,  and  told  me  to  follow  her.  Having  con- 
ducted me  into  her  hut,  (lie  lighted  a  lamp,  fpread 
a  mat  on  the  floor,  and  told  me  I  might  remain 
there  for  the  night.  Finding  that  I  was  very  hun- 
gry, {he  went  out  to  procure  me  fomething  to  eat ; 
and  returned  in  a  ihort  time  with  a  very  fine  fifh; 
which,  having  caufed  it  to  be  half  broiled  upon 
fome  embers,  flie  gave  me  for  fupper.  The  rites 
of  hofpitality  being  thus  performed  towards  a 
ftranger  in  diftrefs,  my  worthy  benefaclrefs  (point- 
ing to  the  mat,  and  telling  me  I  might  ileep  there 
without  apprehenfion)  called  to  the  female  part 
of  her  family,  who  had  ftood  gazing  on  me  all 
the  while  in  fixed  aftonifhment,  to  refume  their 
talk  of  fpinning  cotton;  in  which  they  continued 
to  employ  themfelves  great  part  of  the  night/* 

4  They  lightened  their  labour  by  fongs,  one  of 
which  was  compofed  extempore;  for  I  was  my- 
felf  the  fubjecl  of  it.  It  was  fung  by  one  of  the 
young  women,  the  reft  joining  in  a  fort  of  chorus. 
The  air  was  fweet  and  plaintive,  and  the  words, 
literally  tranflated,  were  thefe.  "  The  winds 
roared  and  the  rains  fell. — The  poor  white  man, 
faint  and  weary,  came  and  fat  under  our  tree. — 
lie  has  no  mother  to  bring  him  milk;  no  wife 
to  grind  his  corn.  Chorus.  Let  us  pity  the 
white  man:  no  mother  has  he  to  bring  him  milk; 
no  wife  to  grind  his  corn.'**  Trifling  as  thefe 

*  These  simple  aod  pathetic  sentiments,  have  been 
very  beautifully  versified  and  expanded,  by  the  duchess 
of  Devonshire.  The  following  is  a  copy  of  this  little  in- 
teresting piece  of  poetry. 

N 


134  Introduction,  (Be.  Part  I. 

events  may  appear  to  the  reader,  they  were  to  me 
affecting  in  the  higheft  degree.  I  was  opprefTed 
by  fuch  unexpected  kindnefs  ;  and  fleep  fled  from 
my  eyes.  In  the  morning  I  prefented  to  my  com- 
paffionate  landlady  two  of  the  four  brafs  buttons 
which  remained  on  my  waiftcoat  ;  the  only  re- 
compenfe  it  was  in  my  power  to  make  her." 

PARK'S   TRAVELS. 

The  loud  wind  roar'cl,  the  rain  fell  fast; 
The  white  man  yielded  to  the  blast. 
He  sat  him  down  beneath  the  tree, 
For  weary,  sad,  and  faint  was  he  : 
And  ah  I  no  wife  or  mother's  care, 
For  him  the  milk  or  corn  prepare. 


CHORUS. 


The  white  man  shall  our  fit  ty  share:  "\ 


!  no  wife-)  or  mother's  care, 
For  him  the  milk  or  corn  prepare. 

The  storm  is  o'er,  the  tempest  past, 
And  mercy's  voice  has  hush'd  the  blast  ; 
The  wind  is  heard  in  whispers  low  : 
The  white  man  far  away  must  go  ; 
But  ever  in  his  heart  will  bear 
Remembrance  of  the  negro's  care. 


CHORUS. 

Go,  white  man,  go  ;  but  with  thee  bear 
The  negro's  wish,  the  negro's  pray'r. 
Remembrance  of  the  negro's  care. 


I 


.    6.  Promifcuous  Pieces.  135 

SECTION     XVI. 
Catharine*,   etnprefs  of  RuJJia. 

CATHARINA  ALEX  OWN  A,  born  near  Der- 
pat,  a  little  city  in  Livonia,  was  heir  to  no  other 
inheritance  than  the  virtues  and  frugality  of  her 
parents.  Her  father  being  dead,  fhe  lived  with 
her  aged  mother,  in  their  cottage  covered  with 
flraw;  and  both,  though  very  poor,  were  very  con- 
tented. Here,  retired  from  the  gaze  of  the  world, 
by  the  labour  of  her  hands  fhe  fupported  her  parent, 
who  was  now  incapable  of  fupporting  herfe-lf. 
While  Catharina  fpun,  the  old  woman  would  fit 
by,  and  read  fome  book  of  devotion.  When  the 
fatigues  of  the  day  were  over,  both  would  fit  down 
contentedly  by  their  fire-fide,  and  enjoy  their  frugal 
meal.  Though  Catharina's  face  and  perfon  were 
models  of  perfection,  yet  her  whole  attention 
feemed  beftowed  upon  her  mind.  Her  mother 
taught  her  to  read,  and  an  old  Lutheran  miniftcr 
!  her  in  the  maxims  and  duties  of  religion. 
Nature  had  furnifhed  her  not  only  with  a  ready, 
but  a  folid  turn  of  thought;  not  only  with  a  ftrong, 
but  a  right  underftanding.  Her  virtues  and  ac- 
complifliments  procured  her  feveral  folicitations  of 
marriage,  from  the  peaiants  of  the  country  :  but 
their  offers  were  refufecl  •,  for  ihe  loved  her  mother 
too  tenderly  to  think  of  a  feparation. 

is  fifteen  years  old  when  her  mother 

She  then  left  her  cottage,   and  went  to  live 

Lutheran  miniiter,  by  whom  fhe  had  been 


136  If rtr eduction,  &e.  Part  I. 

inflrucled  from  her  childhood.  In  his  houfe  fhe 
refided,  in  quality  of  governefs  to  his  children ;  at 
once  reconciling  in  her  character  unerring  pru- 
dence with  furprifing  vivacity.  The  old  man, 
who  regarded  her  as  one  of  his  own  children, 
had  her  inftrudtcd  in  the  elegant  parts  of  frmale 
education,  by  the  matters  who  attended  the  reft  of 
his  family.  Thus  fhe  continued  to  improve,  till 
he  died;  by  which  accident  fhe  was  reduced 
to  her  former  poverty.  The  country  of  Livonia 
was  at  that  time  wailed  by  war,  and  lay  in  a 
miferable  ftate  of  defolation.  Thofe  calamities  are 
ever  moft  heavy  upon  the  poor  ;  wherefore  Catha- 
rina,  though  poffefTed  of  fo  many  accomplifhments, 
experienced  all  the  miferies  of  hopelefs  indigence. 
Provifions  becoming  every  day  more  fcarce,  and 
her  private  ftock  being  entirely  exhaufted,  fhe  re- 
folved  at  laft  to  travel  to  Marienburgh,  a  city  of 
greater  plenty. 

With  her  fcanty  wardrobe,  packed  up  in  a  wal- 
let, fhe  fet  out  on  her  journey,  on  foot.  She 
was  to  walk  through  a  region  miferable  by  nature, 
but  rendered  ftili  more  hideous  by  the  Swedes  and 
Ruffians,  who,  as  each  happened  to  become  mas- 
ters, plundered  it  at  difcretion  :  but  hunger  had 
taught  her  to  defpife  the  dangers  and  fatigues  of 
the  way.  One  evening,  upon  her  journey,  as  fhe 
had  entered  a  cottage  by  the  way-fide,  to  take  up 
her  lodging  for  the  night,  fhe  was  infulted  by  two 
Swedifh  foldiers.  They  might,  probably,  have 
carried  their  infults  into  violence,  had  not  a  fubal* 
tern  officer,  accidentally  paffing  by,  come  in  to 
her  afilfbnce.  Upon  his  appearing,  the  foldiers 


Prcmifcuous  Pieces.  I3J 

immediately  dcfiilcd;  but  her  thankfulnefs  was 
hardly  greater  than  her  furprife,  when  ilie  in- 
ftantly  recollecled,  in  her  deliverer,  the  Ton  of 
the  Lutheran  minifiLr,  her  former  inftructer,  be- 

.ck>r,  and  friend.  This  was  a  happy  interview 
for  Catharina.  The  little  ftock  of  monty  ihe  had 
brought  from  home  was  by  this  time  quite  ex- 
hauftedj  her  clothes  u  ere  gone,  piece  by  piece, 
in  order  to  fatibfy  thofe  who  had  entertained  her 

.heir  houfes  :  her  generous  countryman,  there- 
fore, parted  wiih  what  he  could  fpare,  to  buy 
her  clothes;  furniflied  her  with  a  horfe  ;  and 

e  her  letters  of  recommendation  to  a  faith- 
ful friend  of  his  father's,  the  fuperintendent  of 
Marienburgh. 

SECTION     XVII. 

continued. 

THE    beautiful    ftranger    was   well   received   at 

Marienburgh.       ;  ;     immediately     admitted 

the   fuperintendent's   family,   as   governels   to 

his     two   d.;'  and,    though    but    feventeen, 

fho\  .:pable  of  inltruding  her  fex,   not 

only  in  virtue,   but  in  politenefs.      Such  were   her 

good    fenfe   and    beauty,    that    her   mafter  himfclf 

in  a  (hort  tin  1  her  his  hand  ;  which,   to  his 

great  furprife,   flic  thought  proper  to  refufe.      Ac- 

•c.l  by  a  '.  of  gratitude,  Oie  was  refolved 

;iarry    her  deliverer  only,    though   he   had   loft 

.:rm,   and  was   otherwiie  cii-.Iuiiired  by  wounds, 

in   the   fervice.      In  crder,   therefore,  to 


13^  Introduction,  &c.  Part  I. 

prevent  farther  felicitations  from  others,  as  foon 
as  the  officer  came  to  town  upon  duty,  fhe  offered 
him  her  hand,  which  he  accepted  with  joy  \  and 
their  nuptials  were  accordingly  folemnized.  But 
all  the  lines  of  her  fortune  were  to  be  ttriking. 
The  very  day  on  which  they  were  married,  the 
Ruffians  laid  iiege  to  Marienburgh.  The  unhappy 
foldier  was  immediately  ordered  to  an  attack,  from 
which  he  never  returned. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  fiege  went  on  with  fury, 
aggravated  on  one  fide  by  obttinacy,  on  the  other 
by  revenge.  The  war  between  the  two  northern 
powers  at  that  time  was  truly  barbarous  :  the  in- 
nocent peafant,  and  the  harmlefs  virgin,  often 
fhared  the  fate  of  the  foldier  in  arms.  Marien- 
burgh was  taken  by  affault ;  and  fuch  was  the  fury 
of  the  aiTailants,  that  not  only  the  garrifon,  but 
aimed  all  the  inhabitants,  men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren, were  put  to  the  fword.  At  length,  when 
the  carnage  was  pretty  well  over,  Catharina  was 
found  hid  in  an  oven.  She  had  hitherto  been 
poor,  but  free:  fhe  was  now  to  conform  to  her 
hard  fate,  and  learn  what  it  was  to  be  a  flave.  In 
this  fituation,  however,  fhe  behaved  with  piety 
•and  humility  ;  and  though  misfortunes  had  abated 
her  vivaciry,  yet  fhe  was  cheerful.  The  fame  of 
her  merit  and  refignation  reached  even  prince 
Mer.zikoff,  the  Ruffian  general.  He  defired  to 
fee  her  j  was  pleafed  with  her  appearance;  bought 
her  from  the  foldier,  her  matter  :  and  placed  her 
under  the  direction  of  his  own  fitter.  Here  fhe 
was  treated  with  all  the  refpect  which  her  merit 


Chap.  6.  Promifcitous  Pieces.  139 

dcfervecl,  while  her  beauty  every  day  improved 
with  her  good  fortune.  '--% 

She  had  not  been  long  in  this  fituation,  when 
Peter  the  Great  paying  the  prince  a  viiic,  Catharina 
happened  to  come  in  with  ibme  dried  fruits,  which 
fhe  ferved  round  with  peculiar  modefcy.  The 
mighty  monarch  faw  her,  and  was  ftruck  with  her 
beauty.  He  returned  the  next  day  j  called  for 
the  beautiful  flave;  afked  her  feveral  queftions ; 
and  found  the  charms  of  her  mind  fuperior  even 
to  thofe  of  her  perfon.  He  hud  been  forced, 
when  young,  to  marry  from  motives  of  intereft; 
he  was  now  refolved  to  marry  purfuant  to  his 

n  inclinations.  He  immediately  inquired  into 
the  hiftory  of  the  fair  Livonian,  who  was  not  yet 
eighteen.  i  1  her  through  the  vale  of  ob- 

fcurity,  through  the  viciflitiides  of  her  fortune  ; 
and  found  her  truly  great  in  them  all.  The  mean- 
nefs  of  her  birth  was  no  obftrucYion  to  his  defign. 
The  nuptials  were  folemnized  in  private;  the 
prince  declaring  to  his  courtiers,  that  virtue  was 
the  propereft  ladder  to  a  throne. 

We  now   fee  Catharina,   raifcd    from    the  low, 

mud-wal!ed  cottage,  to  be  emprefs  of  the  greateft 

kingdom  upon  earth.      The  poor  folitary  wanderer 

is  now  furrcundcd   by  thoufands,   who  find  happi- 

nefs   in   her   fmile.       She,    who   formerly  wanted 

a  meal,   is   now  capable   of  diftuling   plenty  upon 

whole  nations.      To  her  good  fortune  fhe  owed  a 

part  of  this  pre-eminence,  but  to  her  virtues  more. 

ever  after  retained  thofe  great  qualities  which 

placed  her  on  a  throne :  and  while  the  extraor- 


140  Introduction.)  &V.  Part  I. 

dinary  prince,  her  hufband,  laboured  for  the  re- 
formation of  his  male  fubjecls,  ihe  iludied,  in  her 
turn,  the  improvement  of  her  own  fex.  She 
altered  their  dreifes^  introduced  mixed  affemblies -, 
inftituted  an  order  of  female  knighthood;  pro- 
moted piety  and  virtue :  and,  at  length,  when  Ihe 
had  greatly  filled  all  the  (rations  of  emprefs,  friend, 
wife,  and  mother,  bravely  died  without  regret, — 
regretted  by  all.  GOLDSMITH, 

SECTION     XVIII. 

Virtue  and  happtnefs  equally  attainable  by  the  rick  and 
the  poor. 

THE  man  to  whom  God  has  given  riches,  and 
bleffed  with  a  mind  to  employ  them  aright,  is  pe- 
culiarly favoured,  and  highly  cliftinguifhed.  He 
looks  on  his  wealth  with  pleafure,  becaufe  it  affords 
him  the  means  to  do  good.  He  protects  the  poor 
that  are  injured;  he  fufFers  not  the  mighty  to  op- 
prefs  the  weak.  He  feeks  out  objects  of  cornpas- 
iion ;  he  inquires  into  their  wants ;  he  relieves 
them  with  judgment,  and  without  oftentation. 
He  aflifts  and  rewards  merit  -,  he  encourages  in- 
genuity, and  liberally  promotes  every  ufeful  de- 
llgn.  He  carrres  on  great  works,  his  country  is 
enriched,  and  the  labourer  is  employed  •,  he  forms 
new  fchemes,  and  the  arts  receive  improvement. 
He  conflders  the  fuperfluities  of  his  table  as  be- 
longing to  the  poor  of  his  neighbourhood  ;  and  he 
defrauds  them  not.  The  benevolence  of  his  mind 
is  not  checked  by  his  fortune  •,  he  rejoices  there- 
fore in  riches,  and  his  joy  Js  blamelefs. 


.   6.  Promifcuous  Pieces.  141 

The  virtuous  poor  man  alfo  may  rejoice  ;  for  he 
has  many  reafons.  He  fits  down  to  his  morfel  in 
peace  ;  his  table  is  not  crowded  with  flatterers  and 
devourers.  He  is  not  embarrafled  with  a  train  of 
dependents,  nor  teafed  with  the  clamours  of  felici- 
tation. Debarred  from  the  dainties  of  the  rich, 
he  efcapes  alfo  their  difeafes.  The  bread  that  he 
eats,  is  it  not  fsveet  to  his  tafte  ?  The  water  he 
drinks,  is  it  not  pleafant  to  his  thirft  ?  yea,  far 
more  delicious  than  the  richeft  draughts  of  the 
luxurious.  His  labour  preferves  his  health,  and 
procures  him  a  repofe,  to  wfoich  the  downy  bed  of 
floth  is  a  ftranger.  He  limits  his  defires  with  hu- 
mility ;  and  the  calm  of  contentment  is  fweeter  to 
his  foul,  than  all  the  acquifitions  of  wealth  and 
grandeur. — Let  not  the  rich,  therefore,  prefume 
on  his  riches  ;  nor  the  poor  in  his  poverty  yield  to 
defpondence  :  for  the  providence  of  God  difpenfes 
happincis  to  them  both. 

1CONOMY    OF     HUM.     LIFE. 
SECTION     XIX. 
r  character  of  Chrifl. 

WHOEVER  confiders,  with  attention,  the  charac- 
ter of  our  blefled  Lord,  or,  it  may  be  collected  from 
the  various  incidents  and  actions  of  his  life,  (for 
there  are  no  laboured  defcriptions  of  it,  no  enco- 
miums upon  it,  by  his  own  diiciples,)  will  foon 
diicover  that  it  was,  in  every  refpeft,  the  mod 
perfect  that  ever  was  made  known  to  mankind. 
If  we  only  fay  of  him,  what  even  Pilate  faid  of 


142  Introduction,    &c.  Part  i. 

him,  and  what  his  bittereft  enemies  cannot  and  do 
not  deny,  that  ive  can  find  no  fault  in  himy  and 
that  the  whole  tenor  of  his  life  was  blamelefs,  this 
is  more  than  can  be  faid  of  any  other  perfon  that 
ever  came  into  the  world.  But  this  is  going  a  very 
little  way  indeed,  in  the  excellence  of  his  cha- 
racter. He  was  not  only  free  from  every  failing, 
but  he  pofTefTed  and  practifed  every  imaginable 
virtue.  Towards  his  heavenly  Father  he  exprefled 
the  molt  ardent  love,  the  moft  fervent  yet  ra- 
tional devotion  ;  and  difplayed,  in  his  whole  conr 
duel:,  the  moft  abfolute  resignation  to  his  will, 
and  obedience  to  his  commands.  His  manners 
were  gentle,  mild,  condefcending,  and  gracious : 
his  heart  overflowing  with  kindnefs,  compaflion, 
and  tendernefs  to  the  whole  human  race.  The 
great  employment  of  his  life,  was  to  do  good  to 
the  bodies  and  fouls  of  men.  In  this,  all  his 
thoughts,  and  all  his  time,  were  conftantly  and 
almoft  inceffantly  occupied.  He  went  about  dif- 
peniing  his  bleflings  to  all  around  him,  in  a  thou- 
iand  different  ways  ;  healing  difeafes,  relieving  in- 
firmities, correcting  errors,  removing  prejudices  ; 
promoting  piety,  juftice,  charity,  peace,  and  har- 
mony ;  and  crowding  into  the  narrow  compafs  of 
his  miniftry  mcife  acts  of  mercy  and  compaflion, 
than  the  longeft  life  of  the  moft  benevolent  man 
upon  earth  ever  yet  produced.  Over  his  own 
paflions  he  had  the  moft  complete  command: 
and  though  his  patience  was  continually  put  to 
the  fevereft  trials,  yet  he  was  never  overcome, 
never  b^'r  yed  into  any  intemperance  or  ex- 
cefs,  in  word  or  deedj  "  never  once  ipake  un- 


Chap.  6.  Promifcucus  Pieces.  143 

advifedly  with  his  lips."  He  endured  the  cruelleft 
infults  from  his  enemies,  with  the  utmoft  com- 
pofure,  meeknefs,  patience,  and  refignation;  dif- 
played  aftonifhing  fortitude  under  a  moft  painful 
and  ignominious  death;  and,  to  crown  all,  in  the 
very  midft  of  his  torments  on  the  crofs,  implored 
forgivenefs  for  his  murderers,  in  that  divinely  cha- 
ritable prayer,  "  Father,  forgive  them,  for  they 
know  not  what  they  do." 

Nor  was  his  wifdom  inferior  to  his  virtues.  The 
doctrines  he  taught  were  the  moft  fublime,  and  the 
moft  important,  that  were  ever  before  delivered  to 
mankind;  and  every  way  worthy  of  that  God,  from 
whom  he  profeffed  to  derive  them,  and  whofe  fon 
he  declared  himfelf  to  be. 

His  precepts  inculcated  the  pureft  and  moft 
perfect  morality  :  his  difcourfes  were  full  of  dig- 
nity and  wifdom,  yet  intelligible  and  clear^  his 
parables  conveyed  inftruction  in  the  moft  pleafing, 
familiar,  and  impreflive  manner  ;  and  his  anfwers 
to  the  many  infidious  qucftions  that  were  put  to 
him,  fhowed  uncommon  quicknefs  of  conception, 
foundnefs  of  judgment,  and  prefence  of  mind  ; 
completely  baffled  all  the  artifices  and  malice  of  his 
enemies;  and  enabled  him  to  elude  all  the  fnares 
that  were  laid  for  him. — From  fflB  fhort  and  im- 
perfect (ketch  of  our  Saviour's  character,  it  is 
evident  that  he  was,  beyond  comparifon,  the 
wifeft  and  moft  virtuous  perfon  that  ever  appeared 
in  the  world. 

BEILBY,   BISHOP    OF     LONDON. 


PART  II. 
PIECES  IN  POETRY. 

CHAPTER  I. 

SELECT  SENTENCES  AND  PARAGRAPHS. 

SECTION    I. 

Improvement  of  Time. 

UEFER  not  till  to-morrow  to  be  wife ; 
To-morrow's  fun  to  thee  may  never  rife. 

Mora!  culture. 

If  good  we  plant  not,  vice  will  fill  the  place  \ 
And  ranked  weeds  the  richeft  foils  deface. 

The  nolleft  art. 

Indulge  the  true  ambition  to  excel 
In  that  beft  art, — the  art  of  living  well. 

Life  a  Jlate  of  trial. 

In  its  true  light,  this  tranfient  life  regard  : 
This  is  a  ftate  jof  trial,  not  reward. 

Happinefs  •domeftic. 

For  genuine  happinefs  we  need  not  roam  ; 
'Tis  doubtlefs  found  with  little,  and  at  home. 

Virtue  and  vice  progrejfive. 
The  human  heart  ne'er  knows  a  flate  of  reft : 
Bad  leads  to  worfe,  and  better  tends  to  beft. 


Cbap.    i.  Selefi  Sentences,  &i\  1*45 

Humility. 

Be  humble;  learn  thyfelf  to  fcan: 
Know,  pride  was  never  made  for  man. 

Contentment  is  happincff. 

Could  wealth  our  happinefs  augment  ? 
What  can  flie  give  beyond  content  ? 

Virtue  altogether  lovely. 

Virtue  is  amiable,  mild,   ferene: 
Without,  all  beauty;  and  all  peace  withiu. 

Self  partiality. 

.The  faults  of  our  neighbours  with  freedom  we  blame, 
-But  tax  not  ourfelves  tho'  we  pra£tife  the  fame. 

Candour  nnd  forgivenefs. 

• How  noble  'tis  to  own  a  fault  ! 

How  gen'rous  nnd  divine  to  forgive  it  ! 

Troubles  from  ourfelves. 
Tis  to  ourfelves,   indeed,    we  chiefly  owe 
The  multitude  of  poignant  griefs  we  feel. 

Refignatiw. 

Nor  love  thy  life,   nor  hate;   but  what  thou  liv'fl, 
Lire  well  ;  how  long  or  fliort,  permit  to  Hcav'n. 

SECTION    n. 

Integrity. 

The  man  of  pure  and  fimple  heart, 
Through  life  difdains  a  double  parr. 
He  never  needs  the  fcreen  of  lies 
ii ward  bofom  to  difguifc. 
O 


34&  Introduction,  &c.  Part   2. 

Beft  ufe  of  riches. 

When  wealth  to  virtuous  hands  is  giv'n, 
It  bleffes  like  the  dews  of  heav'n: 
Like  Heav'n  it  hears  the  orphans'  cries; 
And  wipes  the  tears  from  widows'  eyes. 

Choice  of  friends. 
Vi  '  o  friendfhip  with  a  knave  has  made, 

Mig'd  a  partner  in  the  trade. 
?Tis  thus,   that  on  the  choice  of  friends 
C:  r  good  or  evil  name  depends. 
Chriftian  morality* 

-•—"•"     —  —  JL  is  our  parr, 

As  Chrifdans,   to  forget  the  wrongs  we  feel  j 

:;irdon  trefpalTes  •,   our  very  foes 
To  love  and  che.rilh  ;   to  do  good  to  all ; 
Live  peaceably  \  and  be,   in  all  our  acts, 
Wife  as  the  ferpent,   gentle  as  the  dove. 

Hope  in  afflicJion. 

.. •  «Shall  we  pine, 

And  be  difhearten'd  with  a  day  of  grief, 
YVbc'n  the  fame  hand  which  brought  afHi&ion  on, 
ains  its  pow'r,  and  can,  with  equal  eafe, 
eve  it? 

Folly  of  envy. 

Can  you  difcern  another's  mind  ? 
Why  is't  you  envy  ?  Envy's  blind. 
Tell  envy,  when  (he  would  annoy, 
That  thoufands  want  what  you  enjoy. 

The  ivi/h. 
I  iirdi  not  for  beauty,  nor  languifh  for  wealth  5 


Chap.    i.  Sekfi  Sent  ernes  >    65V.  147 

But  grant  me,  kind  Providence!  virtue  and  health: 
Then,  richer  than  kings,  and  more  happy  than  they, 
My  days  fliall  pafs  fweetly  and  fwiftly  away. 

Cenforioufnefs  reproved. 
In  other  men  we  faults  can  fpy, 
And  blame  the  mote  that  dims  their  eye; 
Each  little  fpeck  and  blemifli  find, 
To  our  own  itronger  errors  blind. — 
Ere  we  remark  another's  fin, 
Let  our  own  confcience  look  within. 

Self  command. 

Ungovern'd  wrath,   and  fell  refentment  fly: 
They  rend  the  foul,   as  tempefts  rend  the  Iky. 
Shun  peevifh  humours:  they  corrode  the  breaft, 
And  cloud  the  brow;   are  childifli  at  the  beft. 
Learn  to  control  your  tongue,  that  reftlefs  thing  f 
Of  mifchief  oft  and  fhame  the  fatal  fpring. 

Inscription  on  a  fun-dial. 

Mark  well  my  (hade,   and  ferioufly  attend 
The  filent  leiTon  of  a  common  friend  : 
Since  time  and  life  fpeed  haftily  away, 
And  no  one  can  recall  the  former  day, 
Improve  each  fleeting  hour  before  'tis  paft  ; 
And  know,  each  fleeting  hour  may  be  thy  laft. 

SECTION     III. 

Source  of  true  happinefs. 
THE  happinefs  of  human  kind 
Confifts  in  reftitude  of  mind, 
A  will-fubdu'd  to  reafon's  fway, 
And  paflions  praftis'd  to  obey  ; 


148  Introduction  G?<r.  Part  2. 

An  open  and  a  gen'rous  heart, 
Refin'd  from  fclfiftmefs  and  art, 
Patience  which  mocks  at  fortune's  pow'r? 
And  wifdom  neither  lad  nor  four. 

Love  to  God  produces  love  to  men. 
Let  gratitude  in  a&s  of  goodnefs  flow; 
Our  love  to  God,   in  love  to  man  below. 
Be  this  our  joy — to  calm  the  troubled  breafr, 
Support  the  weak,  and  fuccour  the  diflreil; 
Direct  the  wand'rer^  dry  the  widow's  tear; 
The  orphan  guard,  the  finking  fpirits  cheer. 
Tho'  .final  1  our  pow'r  to  aft,  tho'  mean  our  flullj 
God  fees  the  heart;  he  judges  by  the  will. 

Me n  mutually  helpful. 
Nature  ^xpefts  mankind  fhould  iharc 
The  duties  of  the  public  care. 
Who's  born  for  floth  ?  To  fome  we  fijad 
The  ploughfhare's  annual  toil  affign'd. 
Some  at  the  founding  anvil  glow; 
.Some  the  fwift  fliding  fhuttle  throw  : 
Some,  ftudious  of  the  wind  and  tide, 
From  pole  to  pole,  our  commerce  guide: 
While  fome,   with  genius  more  refin'd, 
With  head  and  tongue  affift  mankind. 
Thus,  aiming  at  one  common  end, 
Each  proves  to  all  a  needful  friend. 

To  blefsy  is  to  be  blej}. 
WHEN  young,  what  honeft  triumph  flufh'd  my 

breafr, 

This  truth  once  known, — To  blefs  is  to  be  bled  ! 
I  led  the  bending  beggar  on  his  way  ; 


Chap.    I.  Select  Sentences,  &V.  149 

(Bare  were  his  feet,   his  treffes  iilver-gray ;) 

Sooth  d  the  keen  pangs  his  aged  fpirit  felt, 

And  on  his  tale  with  mute  attention  dwelt. 

As  in  his  fcrip  I  dropp'd  my  little  ftore, 

And  wept  to  think  that  little  was  no  more, 

lie  breath'd  his  pray'r  "  Long  may  fuch  goodncfs. 

live  !" 
'T  was  all  he  gave,   'twas  all  he  had  to  give. 

Epitaph  on  a  young  ivtmcin. 
In  dawn  of  life  (he  wifely  fought  her  God  ; 
And  the  itraight  path  of  thorny  virtue  trod. 
Fond  to  oblige,   too  gentle  to  offend  ; 
Belov'd  by  all,  to  all  the  good  a  friend  : 
The  bad  flie  cenfur'd  by  her  life  alone  ; 
Blind  to  their  faults,  fevere  upon  her  own  : 
In  others'  griefs  a  tender  part  fhe  bore  ; 
And  with  the  needy  fhar'd  her  little  ftore  : 
At  diftance  view'd  the  world  with  pious  dread  ; 
And  to  God's  temple  for  protection  fled  ; 
There  fought  that  peace  which  Heav'n  alone  can 

give; 
And  learn'd  to  die  ere  others  learn  to  live. 


O 


CHAPTER  II. 

NARRATIVE    PIECED 

SECTION    I. 
The  looking-glass  ;  ory  ill  humour  Corrected* 

THERE  was  a  little  ftubborn  dame, 
Whom  no  authority  could  tame  : 
Reftive  by  long  indulgence  grown, 
No  will  fhe  minded  but  her  own  : 
At  trifles  oft  fhe'd  icold  and  fret ; 
Then  in  a  corner  take  a  feat, 
And  fourly  moping  all  the  day, 
Difdain  alike  to  work  or  play. 
Papa  all  fofter  arts  had  tried, 
And  (harper  remedies  applied  ; 
But  both  were  vain  ;  for  ev'ry  courfe 
He  took  ftill  made  her  worfe  and  worfe. 
Mamma  obferv'd  the  rifing  lafs, 
By  flealth  retiring  to  the  glafs, 
To  practife  little  airs  unfeen, 
In  the  true  genius  of  thirteen  : 
On  this  a  deep  defign  fhe  laid 
To  tame  the  humour  of  the  maid  ;, 
Contriving,  like  a  prudent  mother, 
To  make  one  folly  cure  another. 
Upon  the  wall  againft  the  feat 
Which  Jeffy  uf  d  for  herretrcat> 


Chap.  2.  Narrative  Pieces.  iji 

Whene'er  by  accident  offended, 

A  Looking-glafs  was  ttraight  fufpended  ; 

That  it  might  fhow  her  how  deform'd 

She  look'd,  and  frightful,  when  (he  ftorm'd  ; 

And  warn  her,  as  the  priz'd  her  beauty, 

To  bend  her  humour  to  her  duty. 

All  this  the  Looking-glafs  achiet'd  ; 

Its  threats  were  minded,  and  believ'd. 

The  maid,  who  fpurn'd  at  all  advice, 

Grew  tame  and  gentle  in  a  trice  : 

So  when  ail  other  means  had  fail'd, 

The  lilent  monitor  prevailed. 

\VILKIE. 

SECTION     II. 

The  Butterfly    and  the   Stiail ;  or,    elevation  renders 
little  minds  proud  and  infolent. 

ALL  upftarts  infolent  in  place, 
Remind  us  of  their  vulgar  race. 
As  in  the  fun/nine  of  the  morn, 
A  Butterfly  (but  newly  born) 
Sat  proudly  perking  on  a  rofe  j 
With  pert  conceit  his  bofom  glows  : 
His  wings  (all  glorious  to  behold) 
Bedropt  with  azure,  jet,  and  gold, 
Wide  he  difplays  ;   the  fpangled  dew 
Reflects  his  eyes,  and  various  hue. 

His  now  forgotten  friend,  a  Snail, 
Beneath  his  houfc,  with  ilimy  trail 
Crawls  o'er  the  grass  ;   whom  when  he  fpies, 
In  wrath  he  to  the  gard'ner  «ries : 


*2  Introduction >  &c.  Part  2. 

"  What  means  yon  peafant's  daily  toil, 
From  choaking  weeds  to  rid  the  foil  ? 
Why  wake  you  to  the  morning's  care  ? 
Why  with  new  arts  correct  the  year  ? 
Why  grows  the  peach  with  crimfon  hue  ? 
And  why  the  plum's  inviting  blue  ; 
Were  they  to  feaft  his  tafte  defign'd, 
That  vermine  of  voracious  '>ind  ? 
Crufh  then  the  flow5  the  pilf  ring  race ; 
So  purge  thy  garden  from  difgrace." 

cc  What  arrogance  \"  the  fnail  replied  ; 
"  How  infolent  is  upftart  pride  ! 
Had  ft  thou  not  thns  with  infult  vain 
Provoked  my  patience  to  complain, 
I  had  conceal'd  thy  meaner  birth, 
Nor  trac'ci  thee  to  the  fcum  of  earth. 
For  fcr.rce  nine  funs  have  wak'd  the  hours, 
To  fwell  the  fruit,  and  paint  the  fiow'rs, 
Since  I  thy  humbler  life  furvey'd, 
In  bafe  and  fordid  guife  array 'd: 
A  hideous  infect,  vile,  unclean. 
You  dragged  a  flow  and  noifome  train  $ 
And  from  your  fpider  bowels  drew 
Foul  film,  and  fpun  the  dirty  clue. 
I  own  my  humble  life,  good  friend  ; 
Snail  was  I  born,  and  Snail  fhall  end. 
And  what's  a  butterfly  ?      At  beft, 
He's  but  a  caterpillar  dreft  : 
And  all  thy  race,  (a  numerous  feed) 
Shall  prove  of  caterpillar  breed.  GAY. 


Narrative  Pieces.  153 


SECTION     III. 

*he  Brother  and  Sifter  *,  or,  mental  excellence  fupefior 
tvptrfonal  beauty. 

WARN'D  by  our  counfel  oft  beware, 
And  look  into  yourfelves  with  care. 

There  was  a  certain  father  had 
A  homely  girl  and  comely  bd. 
Thefe  being  at  their  childifh  play 
Within  their  mother's  room  one  day, 
A  looking-glass  was  in  the  chair, 
And  they  beheld  their  faces  there. 
The  boy  grows  prouder  as  lie  looks  ; 
The  girl  is  in  a  rage,  nor  brooks 
Her  boafting  brother's  jefts  and  fnecrs, 
Affronted  at  each  word  Ihc  hears. 
Then  to  her  father  down-  fhe  flies, 
And  urges  all  fhe  can  devife 
Againft  the  boy,  who  could  prefumc 
To  meddle  in  a  lady's  room. 
At  which,  embracing  each  in  turn 
With  moft  affectionate  concern, 
"  My  dears,"  faid  he,   "  you  muft  not  pais 
A  diy  without  this  ufeful  glafs  ; 
You,  left  you  fpoil  a  pretty  face, 
By  doing  things  to  your  difgrace— - 
You,  by  good  conduct  to  correct 
Your  form,  and  beautify  defect/' 

SMART. 


154  Introduction )  &V.  Part  2. 

SECTION   IV. 

¥ke  Lanib  and  the  Pig  ;   or,  nature  and  education. 

CONSULT  the  moralift,  you'll  find 
That  education  forms  the  mind. 
But  education  ne'er  fupplied 
What  ruling  nature  has  denied. 
If  you'll  the  following  page  purfue, 
My  tale  fhall  prove  this  doctrine  true. 

Since  to  the  mufe  all  brutes  belong. 
The  lamb  fhaii  ufher  in  my  ibng  ; 
Whofe  fnowy  fleece  adorcM  her  fkin, 
Emblem  of  native  white  within. 
Meeknefs  and  love  poffdPd  her  foul, 
And  innocence  had  crown'd  the  whole* 
It  chanc'd  upon  a  lucklefs  day, 
The  little  wanton,  full  of  play, 
Rejoic'd  a  thimy  bank  to  gain ; 
But  fhort  the  triumphs  of  her  reign  ; 
The  treacherous  flopes  her  fate  foretell, 
And  foon  the  pretty  trifler  fell. 
Beneath,  a  dirty  ditch  imprefsM 
Its  mire  upon  her  fpptlefs  veft. 
What  greater  ill  couM  lamb  betide, 
The  butcher's  barb'rous  knife  befide  ? 

The  Ihepherd^  wounded  with  her  cries, 
Straight  to  the  bleating  fufferer  flies. 
The  lambkin  in  his  arms  he  took, 
And  bore  her  to  a  neighb'ring  brook. 
The  iilver  ftreams  her  wool  refin'd  ; 
Her  fleece  in  virgin  whitenefs  fliin'd. 


Ckaf.  2.  Narrative  Pisces,  155 

Cleans'd  from  pollution's  every  ftain, 
She  join'd  her  fellows  on  the  plain  ; 
And  faw  afar  the  {linking  fhore, 
But  ne'er  approach' d  thofe  dangers  more. 
The  fhepherd  blefs'd  the  kind  event,  , 
And  view'd  his  flock  with  fweet  content. 

To  market  next  he  fhap'd  his  way, 
And  bought  provisions  for  the  day  : 
But  made,  for  winter's  rich  fupply, 
A  purchafe  from  a  farmer's  fty. 
The  children  round  their  parent  crowd  ; 
And  teftify  their  mirth  aloud. 
They  faw  the  ftranger  with  furprife, 
And  all  admir'd  his  little  eyes. 
Familiar  grown,  he  fliar'd  their  joys  ; 
Shar'd  too  the  porridge  with  the  boys. 
The  females  o'er  his  drefs  prcflde  ; 
They  wafh  his  face  and  fcour  his  hide. 
But  daily  more  a  fwine  he  grew, 
For  all  thefe  houfe wives  e'er  could  do. 

c  o  T  T  o  K  . 

C  T  I  O  N 

The  Bee  and  the  Ant ;   0r,  the  advantages  of  applica- 
tion and  diligence  in  early  years. 

ON  a  bright  dewy  fummer's  morn 
A  Bee  rang'd  o'er  the  verdant  lawn  ; 
Studious  to  hulband  ev'ry  hour, 
And  make  the  mod  of  ev'ry  flow'r. 
Nimble  from  ftalk  to  ftalk  fhe  flies, 
And  loads  with  yellow  wax  her  thighs  ; 


5-6.  Iitfftidu&fony&c.  >Parf  2. 

With  which  the  artift  builds  her  comb, 

And  keeps  all  tight  and  warm  at  home : 

Or  from  the  cowflip's  golden  bells 

Sucks  honey  to  enrich  her   cells  5 

Or  ev'ry  tempting  rofe  purfues, 

Or  fips  the  lily's  fragrant  dews  ; 

Yet  never  robs  the  fhining  bloom, 

Or  of  its  beauty,   or  perfume. 

Thus  fhe  difcharg'd  in  ev'ry  way, 

The  various  duties  of  the  day. 

It  chanc'd  a  frugal  Ant  was  near, 

Whofe  brow  was  furrow'd  o'er  by  care  : 

A  great  economiit  was  fhe, 

Nor  lefs  laborious  than  the  Bee; 

By  penfive  parents  often  taught 

What  ills  arife  from  want  of  thought ; 
That  poverty  on  floth  depends, 

On  poverty  the  lofs  of  friends. 
Hence  evVy  day  the  Ant  is  found 
With  anxious  fteps  to  tread  the  ground; 
With  curious  fearch  to  trace  the  grain, 
And  drag  the  heavy  load  with  pain. 
The  a&ive  Bee  with  pleafure  faw 
The  Ant  fulfil  her  parents  law. 
Ah  !   fitter-labourer,  fays  fhe, 
How  very  fortunate  are  we ! 
Who,  taught  in  infancy  to  know 
The  comforts  which  from  labour  flow. 
Are  independent  of  the  great, 
Nor  know  the  wants  of  pride  and  ftate. 
Why  is  our  food  fo  very  fweet  ? 
Becaufe  we  earn  before  we  eat. 
Why  are  our  wants  fo  very  few  ? 


Narrative  Pieces.  i$j 

Becaufe  we  nature's  calls  purfue. 

Whence  our  complacency  of  mind? 

Becauie  we  a£l  our  parts  afiign'd. 

Have  we  inceiTant  taiks  to  do  ? 

Is  not  all  nature  bufy  too? 

Does  not  the  fun  with  conftant  pace 

Periiil  to  run  his  annual  race  ? 

Do  not  the  ftars  which  Ihine  fo  bright, 

Renew  their  courfes  ev'ry  night  ? 

Does  not  the  ox  obedient  bow 

His  patient  neck,   and  draw  the  plough: 

Or  when  did  e'er  the  gcn'rous  deed 

Withhold  his  labour  or  his  fpc 

CO 


27v 

RnA  :t  evVy  ftep  he  treads, 

Man  yet  miftakes  his  way, 

ilc  meaner  things,   whom  inftinct  leads, 
Are  rarely  known  to  ftr. 

One  filent  eve  I  wander'd  late, 

And  heard  the  voice  of  1( 
The  turtle  thus  addrefs'd  her  mate, 

And  footh'd  the  lift'ning  dove  : 

c<  Our  mutual  bond  of  faith  and  truth, 

No  time  (hall  difengage; 
Thofe  bleflings  of  our  early  youth, 

Shall  cheer  our  lateft  age. 
P 


153  Introduction)  &c.  Part  2. 

While  innocence  without  difguife, 

And  conftancy  fincerc, 
Shall  fill  the  circles  of  thofe  eyes, 

And  mine  can  read  them  there  > 

Thofe  ills  that  wait  on  all  below 

Shall  ne'er  be  felt  by  me, 
Or,   gently  felt,  and  only  fo, 

As  being  fhar'd  with  thee. 

When  lightnings  flafli  among  the  trees, 

Or  kites  are  hov'ring  near, 
I  fear  left  thee  alone  they  feize, 

And  know  no  other  fear. 

?f  is  then  I  feel  myfelf  a  wife, 

And  prefs  thy  wedded  fide, 
Refolv'd  a  union  form'd  for  life 

Death  never  fhall  divide. 

But,  oh !   if,  fickle  and  unchafte, 

(Forgive  a  tranfient  thought,) 
Thou  couldft  become  unkind  at  laft, 

And  fcorn  thy  prefent  lot, 

No  need  of  lightnings  from  on  high, 

Or  kites  with  cruel  beak; 
Denied  th'  endearments  of  thine  eye, 

This  widow'd  heart  would  break/' 

Thus  fang  the  fweet  fequefter'd  bird, 

Soft  as  the  paffing  wind  ; 
And  I  recorded  what  I  heard, — 

A  lefTon  for  mankind.  cow  PER. 


P.  .2.  Narrative  Pieces.  159 

SECTION   VII. 

The  Goldfinches. 

ALL  in  a  garden,   on  a  currant  bufh, 

Two  Goldfinches  had  built  their  airy  ieat , 

In  the  next  orchard  Hv'd  a  friendly  thrufh, 
Nor  dirtant  far,  a  woodlark's  ibft  retreat. 

Here,  bleft  with  eafe,  and  in  each  other  bleft, 
With  early  fongs  they  wak'd  the  neighboring 
groves  ; 

Till  time  matur'd  their  joy,  and  crown 'd  their  neft 
With  infant  pledges  of  their  faithful  loves. 

And  now,  what  tranfport  glow'd  in  cither's  eye  ! 

What  equal  fondnefs  dealt  th'  allotted  food  ! 
What  joy  each  other's  likeneis  to  dcfcry, 

And  future  fbnnets  in  the  chirping  brood  ! 

But  ah  !   what  earthly  happinefs  can  lad  ? 

How  does  the  faircft  purpofe  often  fail ! 
A  truant  fchool-boy's  wnntonnefs  could  blaft 

Their  flattering  hopes,   and  leave  them  both  to 
wail. 

The  moft  ungentle  of  his  tribe  was  he  ; 

No  gen'rous  precept  ever  touch'cl  his  heart  : 
With  concord  falfe,   and  hideous  profcdy, 

lie  fcrawl'd  his  talk,  and  blunder'd  o'er  his  part. 

On  mifchief  bent,  he  mark'd  with  rav'nous  eyes, 
Where,  wrapt  in  down,  the  callow  fongfters  lay  -, 


\6o  Introduction )  JsY.  Part  2, 

Then  rufhing,   rudely  feiz'd  the  glitt'ring  prize, 
And  bore  it  in  his  impious  hands  away  ! 

But  how  fhall  I  clefcribe,   in  numbers  rude, 
The  pangs  for  poor  Chryfomitris  decreed, 

When,   from  her  fecret  fhnd,   aghaft,   fhe  view'd 
The  cruel  ipoiler  perpetrate  the  deed  ? 

"  O  grief  of  griefs  !"  with  fhrieking  voice  fhe  cried, 
"  What  fight  is  this  that  I  have  liv'd  to  fee  ! 

O  !    that  I  had  in  youth's  fair  feafon  died, 
From  all  falie  joys,  and  bitter  forrows  free. 

Was  it  for  this,  alas  !    with  weary  bill, 

Was  it  for  this  I  pois'd  th'  unwieldy  ftraw; 

For  this  I  bore  the  mofs  from  yonder  hijl, 

Nor  fhunn'd  the  pcnd'rous  ttick  along  to  draw  ? 

Was  it  for  this  I  pick'd  the  wool  with  care, 
Intent  with  nicer  ikill  our  work  to  crown  ; 

For  this,  with  pain,   I  bent  the  ftubborn  hair, 
And  lin'd  our  cradle  with  the  thiflle's  down  ? 

Was  it  for  this  my  freedom  I  refign'd, 

And  ceas'd  to  rove  at  large  from  plain  to  plain  \ 
For  this  I  fat  at  home  whole  days  confined, 

To  bear  the  fcorching  heat,  and  pealing  rain  ? 

Was  it  for  this  my  watchful  eyes  grew  dim  ? 

For  this  the  rofes  on  my  cheek  turn  pale ; 
Pale  is  my  golden  plumage,   once  fo  trim  ! 

And  all  my  wonted  mirth  and  fpirits  fail!'' 


Chap.    2.  rat  we  Pieces.  161 

Thus  fung  the  mournful  bird  her  piteous  tak  ;-— 
The  piteous  tale  her  mournful  mate  returned  : 

Then  fide  by  iide  they  fought  the  diftant  vale  ; 
And  there  in  fccret  iadnefs  inly  mourn'd. 

I  AGO. 

SECTION     VIII. 

The  pet  Lamb. 

THE  dew  was  falling  fad,  the  ftars  began  to  blink; 
I  heard  a  voice;   it  faid,   "Drink,  pretty  creature, 

drink!" 

And,   looking  o'er  the  hedge,   before  me  I  efpied, 
A  fnow-white  mountain  Lamb,   with  a  maiden  at 

its  fide. 

No  other  fheep  were  near,  the  Lamb  was  all  alone, 
And  by  a  (lender  cord  was  tcther'd  to  a  ftone; 
With  one  knee  on  the  grafs  did  the  little  maiden 

kneel, 
While  to  the  mountain  Lamb  flie  gave  its  evening 

meal. 

*f  was  little  Barbara  Lethwaite,  a  child  of  beauty 

rare: 
I  xvatch'd  them   with  delight;   they  were  a  lovely 

pair. 

And  now  with  empty  can,  the  maiden  turn'd  away; 
But  ere  ten  yards  were  gone  her  footileps  did  fhe 

flay. 


1 6 2  Introduction,  &c.  Part  2. 

Towards  the  Lamb  fhe  look'd,  and  from  that  fliady 

place 

I  unobferv'd  could  fee  the  workings  of  her  face  : 
If  nature  to  her  tongue  could  meafur'd  numbers 

bring, 
Thus,  thought  -I,   to  her  Lamb  that    little  maid 

would  iing. 

"  What  ails  thee,  young  one?   what?   why  pull  fo 

at  thy  cord  ? 
Is  it  not  well  with  thee  ?  well  both   for  bed  and 

board  ? 

Thy  plot  of  grafs  is  foft,  and  green  as  grafs  can  be: 
Reft,   little  young  one,  reft;  what   is't  that  aileth 

thee  ? 

What  is  it  thou  would'ft  feek  ?    What's  wanting  to 

thy  heart  ? 
Thy  limbs,  are  they  not  ftrong?  and  beautiful  thou 

art  : 
This  grafs  is  tender  grafs  •,  thefe  flowers,  they  have 

no  peers; 
And  that  green  corn  all  day  is  ruftling  in  thy  ears. 

If  the  fun  is  fhining  hot,  do  but  ftretch  thy  wool- 
len chain, 

This  beech  is  ftanding  by,  its  covert  thou  canft 
gain  : 

For  rain  and  mountain  florins  the  like  thou  need'ft 
riot  fear; 

The  rain  and  ftorm  are  things  which  fcarcely  can 
come  here. 


Chap.  2.  Narrative  Pieces.  163 

Reft,  little  young  one,   reft;   thou  haft  forgot  the 

day 

When  my  father  found  thee  firft  in  places  far  away: 
Many  flocks  were  on  the  hills,  but  thou  wert  own'd 

by  none, 
And  thy   mother  from  thy  fide  for  evermore  was 

gone. 

He  took  thee  in  his  arms,  and  in  pity  brought  thee 

home; 
A  blefTed  day  for  thee!  then  whither  wouldft  thou 

roam  ? 
A  faithful  nurfe  thou  haft;  the  dam  that  did  thee 

Upon  the  mountain  tops, no  kinder  could  have  been. 

Thou  know'ft  that,  twice  a  day,  I've  brought  thee 

in  this  can 

,'li  water  from  the  brook,  as  clear  as  ever  ran: 
And  twice  in  the  day,  when  the  ground  is  wet  with 

dew, 
I  bring  thee  draughts  of  milk,  warm  milk  it  is  and 

new. — 

It  will  not,  will  not  reft  ! — Poor  creature!  can  it  be 
That  'tis  thy  mother's  heart,  which   is  working  fo 

in  t 

Things  that  I  know  not  of  perhaps  to  thee  arc  dear, 
And  dreams  of  things  which  thou  canft  neither  fee 

nor  hear. 


164  Introduction^    &c.  Part  2. 

Alas!   the  mountain  tops  that  look  fo  green   and 

fair  ; — 
I've  heard  of  fearful  winds  and  darknefs  that  come 

there  : 

The  little  brooks,  that  feem  all  paftime  and  all  play, 
When  they  are  angry,  roar  like  lions  for  their  prey. 

Here  thou  need'ft  not  dread  the  raven  in  the  iky; 
He  will  not  come  to  thee ;  our  cottage  is  hard  by. 
Night  and  day  thou  art  fafe  as  living  thing  can  be  : 
Be  happy  then  and  reftj  what  is't  that  aiieth  thee?" 

WORDSWORTH. 

S  E  G  T  ION     IX. 
The  Farmer,  the  Spaniel,   and  the  Cat, 

As  at  his  board  a  farmer  fat, 
Reptenifh'd  by  his  homely  treat, 
His  fav'rite  Spaniel  near  him  flood, 
And  with  his  matter  fhar'd  the  food  ; 
The  crackling  bones  his  jaws  devoured, 
His  lapping  tongue  the  trenchers  fcour'd  ; 
Till,  fated  now,   fupine  he  lay, 
And  fnor'd  the  rifing  fumes  away. 

The  hungry  Cat,  in  turn  drew  near, 
And  humbly  crav'd  a  fervant's  fhare. 
Her  modeft  worth  the  matter  knew, 
And  ftraight  the  fatt'ning  morfel  threw. 
Enrag'd,  the  funding  cur  awoke, 
And  thus  with  fpiteful  envy  fpoke  : 
"  They  only  claim  a  right  to  eat, 
Who  earn  by  fervices  their  meat ; 


2.  Narrative  Pieces.  165 

Me,   zeal  and  induftry  inflame 

To  fcour  the  fields,   and  fprirg  the  game; 

Or,   plunged  in  the  wint'ry  wave, 

For  man  the  wounded  bird  to  fave. 

With  watchful  diligence  I  keep 

From  prowling  wolves  his  ileecy  fheep-, 

At  home  his  midnight  hours  iecure, 

And  drive  the  robber  from  the  door. 

For  this  his  breaft  with  kindncis  glows, 

For  this  his  hand  the  food  be|$pws. 

And  (hall  thy  indolence  impart 

A  warmer  friend  (hip  to  his  heart, 

That  thus  he  robs  me  of  my  due, 

To  pamper  fuch  vile  things  as  you  !" 

"  I  own,"  with  meeknefs,   Pufs  replied, 
"  Superior  merit  on  your  fide  ; 
Nor  does  my  breart  with  envy  fwell, 
To  find  it  recompens'd  ib  well  : 
Yet  I,   in  what  my  nature  can, 
Contribute  to  the  good  of  man. 
Vv'h'tfc  claws  deftroy  the  pilf'ring  moufe  ? 
Who  drives  the  vermine  from  the  houfe  ? 
Or,   watchful  for  the  lab'ring  fwain, 
From  lurking  rats  fecures  the  grain  ? 
From  hence  if  he  rewards  beftow, 
Why  (hould  your  heart  with  gall  overflow  ? 
Why  pine  my  happinefs  to  fee, 
Since  there's  enough  for  you  and  me  ?:> 

"  Thy  words  are  juiV'  the  Farmer  cried, 
And  fpurn'd  the  fnarler  from  his  fide. 

M  OCR  F, , 


1 66  Introduction,   &c.  Part  . 

SECTION  x. 
The  Wheat  and  the  Weeds. 

'TwAS  in  a  pleafant  month  of  fpring, 
When  flow'rets  bloom  and  warblers  fingj 
A  field  of  wheat  began  to  rife, 
The  farmer's  hope,  his  country's  prhse. 
When  lo  !   amid  the  op'ning  ears, 
A  various  crop  of  weeds  appears. 
The  poppy,  foldier-like  array'd, 
Its  flimfy  fcarlet  flow'rs  difplay'd. 
Some,  like  the  lofty  Iky,  were  blue ; 
And  fome  were  tinged  with  golden  hue  : 
But  ev'ry  where  the  wheat  was  feen, 
Clad  in  one  robe  of  modeft  green. 
It  chanc'd  three  youths,  in  city  bred, 
That  knew  to  eat — not  raife  their  bread, 
For  pleafure's  fake,  had  rambled  there, 

To  fee  the  fun  and  breathe  frefti  air. 

• 

Of  herbs  and  grain  they  little  knew 
What  Linnaeus  wrote,  or  Sinclair  grevr  : 
But  each,  as  o'er  the  field  they  gaz'd, 
What  fancy  led  to,   pluck'd  and  praised. 
"  See,"  faid  the  firft,  "  this  flow'r  fo  red, 
That  gently  bows  its  blufhing  head  : 
Can  the  whole  field  a  plant  difplay, 
So  rich,  fo  noble,  and  fo  gay  ?'' 

"  Yes,'"  faid  the  next,   "  the  flow'r  I  fliow, 
With  ftar-like  rays5   and  (ky-like  blue, 
So  much  does  your  dull  plant  outfhine, 
That  the  beft  choice  is  furelv  mine/' 


Chap.   2.  Narrative  Pieces.  1 

"  Stop,"  faid  the  third,  "  the  flow'r  I  hold, 
With  clufter'd  leaves  of  burnifh'd  gold, 
Than  your's  or  his,   is  richer  dreft: 
The  choice  I've  made,  is  doubtlefs  beft.5' 
In  this,  however,  each  agreed, 
That  nothing  could  his  own  exceed  \ 
And  that  the  riling  blades  of  green, 
Did  not  deferve  to  grow  between. 

A  Farmer  chanc'd  behind  the  gate 
To  overhear  the  youths7  debate; 
Knowing  from  ign'rance  error  fprings, 
He  flrove  to  teach  them  better  things. 

"  My  lads,"  he  faid,   "  now  underftand, 
Thefe  are  bat  weeds  that  fpoil  our  land; 
13ut  the  green  blades  you  trample  down 
Are  wheat,   man's  food,  and  nature's  crown 
With  art  and  pains  the  crop  is  fown; 
And  thus  your  daily  bread  is  grown. 
Alas!   your  judgment  was  not  right, 
Becaufe  you  judg'd  from  outward  fight." 

SECTION     XI. 

Economy  the  four ce  of  Charity. 

BY  gen'rous  goodnefs  taught,  my  early  youth 
Soon  learnt  humanity. — My  parents  died — 
Orphans  have  claims  on  charitable  fouls; 
The  pious  Edgar  thought  fo:  mov'd  perhaps 
By  the  foft  eloquence  of  infant  tears, 
Perchance  by  nature  prompted,  to  his  roof 
He  led  the  fatherlefs. — It  was  the  feat 
Of  nuptial  happi^fs  :  a  ruftic  cot, 


1 68  Introduction^  &c.  Part  2. 

Small,   yet  convenient,   for  their  wants  were  few  : 
And  Edgar,   knowing  what  all  men  ihould  learn, 
Was  with  his  lot  contented. — Happy  ftate  ( 
Labour  he  plied  for  exercife,   not  gain. 
At  early  dawn,  he  led  me  to  the  field  ; 
And,   drawing  morals  from  each  talk  he  took, 
Told  me,   "  that  ev'ry  feed,   well  fown  on  earth, 
Would  yield  full  harveft  in  that  awfui  day, 
When  all  arrears  of  labour  (hall  be  paid  ; 
Each  well-meant  toil  rewarded/' — Once  perchance, 
I  found  him  bufied  near  a  murm'ring  rill : 
To  various  little  ftreams  he  turn'd  its  fource, 
Where,  wand'ring  devious  through  his  neat  drefs'd 

grounds, 

It   cheer'd  the  green  copfe,   fill'd  the  caring  corn  ; 
Then  trickled  gently  through  the  perfum'd  grove. 
"  Mark  well,  my  child,"  he  faid-,  "  this  little  ftream 
Shall  teach  thee  Charity.      It  is  a  fource 
I  never  knew  to  fail :  directed  thus 
Be  that  foft  ftream,  the  fountain  of  thy  heart. 
For,   Oh  !   my  much  lov'd  child,  I  truft  thy  heart 
Has  thofe  affecYions  that  fhall  blefs  thyfclf ; 
And  flowing  foftiy,  like  this  little  rill, 
Cheer  all  that  droop." — The  good  man  did  not  err; 
The  milk  of  human-kindnefs  warm'd  my  breaft ; 
Young  as  I  was,  I  felt  for  others'  woes, 
And,   when  I  could,  relieved    them. — Yet  I  was 

young  ! 

And,   having  lavifh'd  all  my  infant  ftore 
In  gewgaw  toys,   and  childifh  fooleries, 
1  do  remember  well,  a  vet'ran  old, 
Maim'd  and  disfigured  by  the  hand  of  war, 
Implor'd  my  charity.      I  felt,  alas  ! 


Chap.    2.  Narrative  Pieces. 

169 

His  various  wants — fore,  fick,  and  wan,  he  u 
My  little  heart  bled  at  each  wound  he  ihow'd/'*: 
Alas !   alas  !   replied  my  infant  thoughts, 
And  fhall  want  cloud  the  ev'ning  of  his  days 
Whofe  noon  of  life  was  toil  ? — And  then  I  wept, — 
It  was  the  firft  time  that  I  e'er  knew  want : 
I  was  indeed  a  bankrupt.      Edgar  came. 
I  wept,  but  fpoke  not  •,   for  my  heart  was  full. 
"  What  wilt  thou  give,   my  boy  ?" — Fearing  a  lie, 
I  fobb'd  out  truth  mod  fadly.      Edgar  felt  ; 
Pardon'd  my  folly  ;   (for  he  lov'd  my  tears  j) 
And  gave  what  footh'd  the  poor  man's  mifery. 
But,   in  our  ev'ning's  walk,  behold  !   the  ftream 
Was  dry.   I  afk'd  the  cauie — "  Mark  me,  my  child ; 
This  rill,   I  told  thee  oft,   through  all  thy  life, 
Should  teach  thee  Charity. — Now  let  it  teach, 
If  yet  thou  haft  to  learn,  that  the  blefs'd  fource 
Of  lib'ral  deeds  is,    wife  Economy. 
This  morn,   like  thee,  I  drew  the  ftream  too  faft  : 
Now — when  the  parch'd  glebe  wants  its  wat'ry  aid, 
The  fource  is  all  exhaufted." 


CHAPTER  IIL 

DIDACTIC    PIECES. 

SECTION     I. 
To  fome  children  lijlening  to  a  lark. 

OEE  the  lark  prunes  his  aftive  wings, 
Rifes  to  heav'n,  and  foars,  and  fings  ! 
His  morning  hymns,  his  mid-day  lays, 
Are  one  continued  fong  of  praife. 
He  fpeaks  his  Maker  all  he  can, 
And  {names  the  filent  tongue  of  man. 
When  the  declining  orb  of  light 
Reminds  him  of  approaching  night, 
His  warbling  vefpers  fwell  his  bread  ; 
And,   as  he  tings,  he  finks  to  reft. 
Shall  birds  inftrudlive  leflbns  teach, 
And  we  be  deaf  to  what  they  preach  ? — 
No,  ye  dear  neftlings  of  my  heart ; 
Go,   act  the  wifer  fongfler's  part : 
Spurn  your  warm  couch  at  early  dawn, 
And  with  your  God  begin  the  morn. 
To  Him  your  grateful  tribute  pay, 
Thro'  ev'ry  period  of  the  day. 
To  him  your  ev'ning  fongs  direct ; 
His  eye  fhall  watch,   his  arm  protect : 
Tho'  darknefs  reigns,  he's  with  you  ftill  \ 
Then  fleep,  my  babes,  and  fear  no  ill. 

COTTON. 


Chap.   3.  Didaftic  Pieces.  171 


SECTION     II. 
The  advantages  of  early  religion. 

HAPPY  the  child,   whofe  tender  years, 

Receive  inftrucYion  well ; 
Who  hates  the  Tinner's  path,   and  fears 

The  road  that  leads  to  hell. 

When  we  give  up  our  youth  to  God, 

'Tis  pleafing  in  his  eyes  : 
A  flow'r,   that's  offer 'd  in  the  bud, 

Is  no  vain  facrifice. 

'Tis  eafy  work,   if  we  begin 

To  fear  the  Lord  betimes  j 
While  finners,    who  grow  old  in  fin, 

Are  harden 'd  in  their  crimes. 

Twill  fave  us  from  a  thoufand  fnares, 

To  mind  religion  young  ; 
It  will  preferve  our  following  years, 

And  make  our  virtue  ftrong. 

To  thee,   Almighty  God  !    to  thee 

Our  childhood  we  reflgn  ; 
'Twill  pleafe  us  to  look  back  and  fee 

That  our  whole  lives  were  thine. 


Let  the  fweet  work  of  pray'r  and  praife 

Employ  our  youngeft  breath  ; 
Thus  we're  prepared  for  longer  days, 

Or  fit  for  early  death.  WATTS. 


172  Introduction y  &£.  Part  2. 

SECTION     III. 
Peace  and  love  recommended. 

LET  dogs  delight  to  bark  and  bite  ; 

For  God  has  made  them  fo  ; 
Let  bears  and  lions  growl  and  fight, 

For  'tis  their  nature  too. 

But,   children,   you  £hoiild  never  let 

Such  angry  pailions  rife; 
Your  little  hands  were  never  made 

To  tear  each  other's  eyes. 

Let  love  thro'  all  your  actions  run, 

And  all  your  words  be  mild  ; 
Live  like  God's  well  beloved  Son, 

That  fweet  and  lovely  child. 

His  foul  was  gentle  as  a  lamb  ; 

And  as  in  age  he  grew, 
He  grew  in  favour  both  with  man, 

And  God  his  Father  too. 

The  Lord  of  all  who  reigns  above, 

Does  from  his  heav'nly  throne, 
Behold  what  children  dwell  in  love, 

And  marks  them  for  his  own.  WATTS. 


Chap.   3.  Dimic  Pieces.  173 


SECTION     IV. 
To  a  \oting  woman,    ivith  a  watch. 

WHILE  this  gay  toy  attracts  thy  fight, 

Thy  reafon  let  it  warn  ; 
And  feize,   my  dear,   that  rapid  time, 

That  never  muft  return. 

If  idly  loft,   no  art  or  care 

The  bleffing  can  reftore ; 
And  Heav'n  requires  a  ftricl  account 

For  ev'ry  mil  pent  hour. 

Short  is  our  longeft  day  of  life, 

And  foou  its  profpecl:  ends, 
Yet  on  that  day's  uncertain  date, 

Eternity  depends. 

But  equal  to  our  being's  aim, 

The  fpace  to  virtue  giv'n  ; 
And  ev'ry  minute,   well  improv'd, 

Secures  an  age  in  Heav'n.  CARTER, 

CTION    v. 
Verfes  accompanying  a  nofegay. 

a'ft  not  ftcal  the  rofe's  bloom, 

ace  ; 

•\veet  bluih  of  modefty, 
I  lend  an  -ace. 


174  Intro duftiorty  &c\  Part  2. 

Thefe  violets  fcent  the  diftant  gale; 

(They  grew  in  lowly  bed  ;) 
So  real  worth  new  merit  gains, 

By  diffidence  o'erfpread. 

Nor  wilt  thou  e'er  that  lily's  white, 

In  thy  complexion  find  $ 
Yet  innocence  may  fliine  as  fair, 

Within  thy  fpotlefs  mind. 

Now,   in  the  op'ning  fpring  of  life, 

Let  ev'ry  flow'ret  bloom  : 
The  budding  virtues  in  thy  breaft 

Shall  yield  the  beft  perfume. 

This  nofegay,  in  thy  bofom  plac'd, 

A  moral  may  convey  : 
For  foon  its  brighteft  tints  fhall  fade, 

And  all  its  fweets  decay. 

So  fhort-liv'd  are  the  lovely  tribes 

Of  Flora's  tranfient  reign  : 
They  bud,  blow,  wither,  fall,  and  die-, 

Then  turn  to  earth  again. 

And  thus,  my  dear,   muft  ev'ry  charm, 

Which  youth  is  proud  to  (hare  ; 
Alike  this  quick  fuccefficn  prove, 

And  the  fame  truth  declare. 

Sicknefs  will  change  the  roieate  hue, 

Which  glowing  health  befpeaks; 
And  age  will  wrirlde  with  its  cares 

The  fmile  on  beauty's  cheeks. 


Chap.    3.  Didactic  Pieces. 

But  as  that  fragrant  myrtle  wreath, 

Will  all  the  reft  furvive  ; 
So  fhall  the  mental  graces  ftill, 

Through  endlefs  ages  live. 

SECTION    v i . 
Duties  of  the  morning. 

SEE  the  time  for  ileep  has  run  *, 
Rife  before  or  with  the  fun. 
Lift  thy  hands  and  humbly  pray, 
The  Fountain  of  eternal  day, 
That,  as  the  light  ferenely  fair, 
Illumines  all  the  tracts  of  air; 
The  facred  Spirit  fo  may  reft, 
With  quickening  beams  >ipon  thy  breaft; 
And  kindly  clean  it  all  within, 
From  darker  blcmiihes  of  fin  : 
And  fhine  with  grace  until  we  view 
The  realm  it  gilds  with  glory  too. 
See  the  day  that  dawns  in  air, 
Brings  along  its  toil  and  care. 
From  the  lap  of  night  it  fprings, 
With  heaps  of  bufinefs  on  its  wings  : 
Prepare  to  meet  them  in  a  mind, 
That  bows  fubmiffively  refignM  : 
That  would  to  works  appointed  fall ; 
That  knows  that  God  has  ordered  all. 
whether,   with  a  fmali  repair, 
brcalc  the  fober  morning  fafl ; 
Or  in  our  thoughts  and  hcufes  lay 
The  future  methods  of  the  day ; 


176  Introduftion^  &c.  Part  2* 

Or  early  walk  abroad  to  meet 
Our  bufinefs  with  induftrious  feet: 
Whate'er  we  think,  whatever  we  do, 
His  glory  ftill  be  kept  in  view. 
O,   Giver  of  eternal  biifs, 
Heav'nly  Father,  grant  me  this  ! 
Grant  it  all,   as  well  as  me, 
All  whofe  hearts  are  fix'd  on  thee  j 
Who  revere  the  Son  above  ; 
Who  thy  facred  Spirit  love  ! 

PARNELL. 
SECTION     VII. 
The  mind  to  be  cultivated. 

HEAR,  ye  fair  mothers  of  our  ifle, 
Nor  fcorn  your  poet's  homely  ftyle. 
What  tho'  my  thoughts  be  quaint  or  new, 
I'll  warrant  that  my  doctrine's  true  : 
Or  if  my  fentiments  be  old, 
Remember,   truth  is  fterling  gold. 

You  judge  it  of  important  weight, 
To  keep  your  rifing  offspring  ftraight: 
vFor  this  fuch  anxious  motions  feel, 
And  afk  the  friendly  aid  of  fteel; 
For  this  import  the  diftant  cane, 
Or  flay  the  monarch  of  the  main. 
And  fhall  the  foul  be  warp'd  afide, 
By  paflion,  prejudice,  and  pride  ? 
Deformity  of  heart  I  call 
The  worft  deformity  of  all. 


Chap.  3.  Didatlic  Pieces.  177 

Your  cares  to  body  are  confin'd  \ 

Few  fear  obliquity  of  mind.  § 

Why  not  adorn  the  better  part  ? 

This  is  a  nobler  theme  for  art. 

For  what  is- form,   or  what  is  face, 

But  the  foul's  index,   or  its  cafe  ? 

Now  take  a  fimile  at  hand  ; 
Compare  the  mental  foil  to  land. 
Shall  fields  be  tillM  with  annual  care, 
And  minds  lie  fallow  ev'ry  year? 
O,   fmce  the  crop  depends  on  you, 
Give  them  the  culture  which  is  due  : 
Hoe  ev'ry  weed,   and  drefs  the  foil  j 
So  harveft  (hall  repay  your  toil. 

If  human  minds  refemble  trees, 
(As  ev'ry  moralift  agrees,) 
Prune  all  the  ftragglers  of  your  vine  •, 
Then  fhall  the  purple  clufters  fliine. 
The  gard'ner  knows,   that  fruitful  life 
Demands  his  falutary  knife  : 
For  every  wild  luxuriant  moot, 
Or  robs  the*bloom,  or  ftarves  the  fruit. 

COTTON. 
SECTION     VIII. 

Dependence  on  Providence. 

REGARD  the  world  with  cautious  eye, 
Nor  raife  your  expectation  high. 
See  tha:  \1  fcalcs  be  fuch, 

You  neither  fear  nor  hope  too  much. 
For  difappointment's  not  ti.e  thing  ; 
'Tia  pride  and  paifion  point  the  fling. 


178  Introduftion,   &c.  Part  2. 

Life  is  a  fea  where  dorms  muft  rife ; 
'Tis  folly  talks  of  cloudiefs  fkies  : 
He  who  contracts  his  fwelling  fail, 
Eludes  the  fury  of  the  gale. 

Be  ftill,  nor  anxious  thoughts  employ  j 
Diftruft  embitters  prefent  joy  : 
On  God  for  all  events  depend  ; 
You  cannot  want  when  God's  your  friend. 
Weigh  well  your  part,  and  do  your  beft  ; 
Leave  to  your  Maker  all  the  reft. 
The  hand  which  form'd  thee  in  the  womb, 
Guides  from  the  cradle  to  the  tomb. 
Can  the  fond  mother  flight  her  boy ; 
Can  fhe  forget  her  prattling  joy  ? 
Say  then,  fhall  fov^eign  Love  defert 
The  humble,  and  the  honeft  heart  ? 
Heav'n  may  not  grant  thee  all  thy  mind  ; 
Yet  fay  not  thou  that  Heav'n's  unkind. 
God  is  alike,  both  good  and  wife, 
In  what  he  grants,  and  what  denies  : 
Perhaps,   what  Goodnefs  gives  to-day, 
To-morrow,   Goodnefs  takes  away. 

You  fay,  that  troubles  intervene  j 
That  forrows  darken  half  the  fcene. 
True — and  this  confequence  you  fee, 
The  world  was  ne'er  defign'd  for  thee : 
You're  like  a  paflenger  below, 
That  ftays  perhaps  a  night  or  fo  ; 
But  ftill  his  native  country  lies 
Beyond  the  bound'ries  of  the  Ikie^, 

Of  Heav'n  afk  virtue,  wifdom,   health ; 
But  never  let  thy  pray'r  be  wealth. 


'• 


Didatllc  Pieces. 


If  food  be  thine,  (tho'  little  gold,) 
And  raiment  to  repel  the  cold  ; 
Such  as  may  nature's  wants  fuffice, 
Not  what  from  pride  and  folly  rife ; 
If  foft  the  motions  of  thy  foul, 
And  a  calm  confcience  crowns  the  whole  ; 
Add  but  a  friend  to  all  this  ftore, 
You  can't  in  reafon  wifli  for  more  : 
And  if  kind  Heav'n  this  comfort  brings, 
'Tis  more  than  Heav'n  beftows  on  kings. 

COTTON. 


±A 


CHAPTER     IV. 
DESCRIPTIVE     PIECES. 

SECTION     I. 

The  pleafures  of  retirement. 


APPY  the  man,  whofe  wish  and  care 
A  few  paternal  acres  bound  ; 
Content  to  breathe  his  native  air, 

In  his  own  ground. 

Whofe  herds  with  milk,  whofe  fields  with  bread, 

Whofe  flocks  fupply  him  with  attire  ; 
Whofe  trees  in  fummer  yield  him  lhade, 
In  winter  fire. 

Bleft  who  can  unconcern'dly  find 

Hours,  days,  and  years,  flide  fi^L  away, 
In  health  of  body,  peace  of  mindBJ 
Qiiiet  by  day, 

Sound  fleep  by  night  ;  ftudy  and  eafe, 
Together  mix'd  ;   fweet  recreation, 
And  innocence,  which  moft  does  pleafe, 
With  meditation. 

Thus,  let  me  live,  unfeen,  unknown  , 

Thus  unlamentedJet  me  die, 
Steal  from  the  world,  and  not  a  (tone 

Tell  where  I  lie.          POPE, 


i8i 

SECTION     II. 
The  Sluggard. 

'Tis  the  voice  of  the  Sluggard  —  I  h< 

plain, 
4<  You   have    wak'd   me   too   foon,         iiuA  num- 

ber again/' 

As  the  door  on  its  hinges,  so  he  on  his  bed 
Turns  his  fides  aad  his  fhoulders,  and  his  heavy  head. 

•'  A  little  more  fleep  and  a  little  more  {lumber  ;" 
Thus  he  \\aftcs  half  his  days,  and  his  hours  without 

number  : 

And  when  he  gets  up,  he  fits  folding  his  hands, 
Or  walks  about  faunt'ring,  or  trilling  he  Hands. 

I  paiVd  by  his  garden,  I  faw  the  wild  brier, 
The  thorn,  andthethiftlc,  grow  broader  and  higher. 
The  clothes  that  hang  on  him  are  turning  to  rags  ; 
And  his  money  ftili  waiies,  till  he  ftarves  or  he  begs. 

I  made  him  a  uMt>  flill  hoping  to  find 

He  had  ta'en  beTOr  care  for  improving  his  min:!  : 

He    told    me   his     dreams,    talk'd    of    eating    ai:d 

drinking  ; 
Bui  rcfc  reads  the   Bible,    and    never  loves 


I  then  to  my  heart,  "  Here's  a  lefTon  for  me  ; 
t  man's  but  a  picture  of  what  I  might  be  : 

thanks  to  my  friends   for    their   care   in    my 

breeding, 
o  taught  me  betimes  to  love  working  and  read- 

ing !"  WATTS. 

R 


1 82  Introduction )  G?f.  Part 


SECTION     III. 

Creation  and  Providence. 

I  SING  th'  almighty  pow'r  of  God, 
That  made  the  mountains  rife  ; 

That  fpread  the  flowing  feas  abroad, 
And  built  the  lofty  fkies. 

I  fing  the  wifdom  that  ordain'd 

The  fun  to  rule  the  day  : 
The  moon  (nines  full  at  his  command, 

And  all  the  ftars  obey. 

1  fing 'the  goodnefs  of  the  Lord, 
That  fill'd  the  earth  with  food: 

i. 

lie  form  d  the  creatures  with  his  word, 
And  then  pronounc'd  them  good. 

Lord  !   how  thy  wonders  are  difplay'd, 
Where'er  I  turn  mine  eye;  JMfe 

If  I  furvey  the  gronnd  I  tread(jP 
Or  gaze  upon  the  fky  ! 

There's  not  a  plant  or  flower  below 
But  makes  thy  glories  known; 

And  clouds  arife,   and  tempefts  blow, 
By  order  from  thy  throne. 

Creatures  (as  nunrrous  as  they  be) 

Are  fubj'eft  to1  thy  care; 
There's  not  a  place  where  we  can  flee, 
God  is  prefent  there. 


Defcripttve  Pieces.  \  8  ; 

.   heav'n  he  fliines  with  beams  of  love: 

With  wrath  in  hell  beneath  ! 
Tis  on  his  earth  I  ftand  or  move, 
And  'tis  his  air  I  breathe. 

His  hand  is  my  perpetual  guard  \ 

He  keeps  me  with  his  eye  : 
Why  ihould  I  then  forget  the  Lord, 

Who  is  for  ever  nigh?  WATTS, 

SECTION     IV.. 
A  morning  in  Spring. 

J.o!    the  bright,   the  rofy  morning, 

Calls  me  forth  to  t^       tV»e  air  : 
Cheerful  fpring,   with  "rning, 

Ufhers  in  the  new- 
Nature  now  in  all  her  beauty, 

With  her  gently-moving  tongue, 
Prompts  me  to  the  pleafing  duty, 

Of  a  grateful  morning  fong. 

See  the  early  blofToms  fpringing ! 

See  the  jocund  lambkins  play! 
Hear  the  lark  and  linnet  Cnging, 

Welcome  to  the  new-born  day! 

Vernal  mufic,   foftly  founding, 
Echoes  through  the  verdant  grov 
•iow  with  life  abounding, 
1th  harmony  and  I 


184  Introduction y    &5V.  Part  2, 

Now  the  kind  refrefhing  fhowers, 

Water  all  the  plains  around: 
Springing  grafs,  and  painted  flowers, 

In  the  fmiling  meads  abound. 

Now  their  vernal  drefs  afiuming, 

Leafy  robes  adorn  the  trees  : 
Odours  now,  the  air  perfuming, 

Sweetly  fwell  the  gentle  breeze. 

Praife  to  thee,  thou  great  Creator ! 

Praife  be  thine  from  evVy  tongue  : 
Join,   ^  foul,  with  ev'ry  creature: 

Join  the  universal  fong  ! 

For  ten  thoufand  H  ' 

For  the  richeft  gifts  1  a  ; 

Sound  his  praifc  through  earth  and  heav'n  •, 

,d  ]ehovan's  praife  aloud  !      FAWCETT* 

SECTION   v. 

Heavenly  Wifdom. 

How  happy  is  the  man  who  hears 

Inftruftion's  warning  voice  ; 
And  who  celeftial  Wifdom  makes 

His  early,   only  choice. 

For  (he  has  treafures  greater  far 

Than  eaft  or  weft  unfold  ; 
And  her  reward  is  more  fecure 

Than  is  the  gain  of  gold. 


Chap.    4.  Defcriptive  Pieces.  185 

In  her  right-hand  flie  holds  to  view 

A  length  of  happy  years  ; 
And  in  her  left,   the  prize  of  fame 

And  honour  bright  appears. 

She  guides  the  young,  with  innocence, 

In  pleafure's  path  to  tread  : 
-V  crown  of  glory  ihe  bellows 

Upon  the  hoary  head. 

According  as  her  labours  rife, 

So  her  rewards  increafe  : 
Her  ways  are  ways  of  pleafantnefs 

And  all  her  paths  are  peace.  LOGAN. 

SECTION'     VI. 

The  Man  of  Rofs. 

RISE,  honeft  mufe  !    and  fing  the  Man  of  Rofs. — 

"Who  hung  with  woods  yon  mountain's  lultry  brow  * 

From  the  dry  rock  who  bade  the  waters  flow  ? 

Not  to  the  fkies  in  ufelefs  columns  toft, 

Or  in  proud  falls  magnificently  loft; 

But  clear  and  artlefs,   pouring  thro*  the  plain, 

Health  to  the  lick,   and  folace  to  the  fwain. 

Whofe  caufcway  y  ;ws  ? 

Whofe  feats  t!  traveller  repoic  ? 

Who  taught  that  lireclfd  fpire  to  rife  r 

"  The  Man  of  Rofs,"  each  lifping  babe  replies. 

Behold  the  market-place  \vith  poor  o'erfpreacl  ! 
The  Man  of  Rofs  divides  the  weekly  bread. 

>ufe,   ncnt,    but  void  of  ft;Uc, 
-\ge  and  Want  fit  fmiling  at  the  gate, 
R  * 


186  Introduction,  &c>  Parti. 

Hirn  portioned  maids,   apprenticed  orphans  bleft  5 
The  young  who  labour,  and  the  old  who  reft. 
Is  any  fick  ?  The  Man  of  Rofs  relieves, 
Prefcribes,  attends,  the  med'cine  makes,  and  gives. 
Is  there  a  variance  ?  Enter  but  his  door, 
Balk'd  are  the  courts,  and  conteft  is  no  more. 
Thrice  happy  man  !   enabled  to  purfue 
What  numbers  wifh,  but  want  the  power  to  do. 

POPE. 

SECTION   VII. 

Refignation. 

WHILE  fome  in  folly's  pleafures  roll, 
And  feek  the  joys  that  hurt  the  foul  j 
Be  mine,  that  filent  calm  repaft, 
A  peaceful  conference  to  the  laft: 

That  tree  which  bears  immortal  fruit, 
Without  a  canker  at  the  root ; 
That  friend,   which  never  fails  the  juft, 
When  other  friends  muft  quit  their  truft. 

Come  then,  my  foul,  be  this  thy  gueft. 
And  leave  to  folly's  fons  the  reft  : 
With  this  thou  ever  mayft  be  gay, 
And  night  {hall  brighten  into  day. 

With  this  companion  in  the  fhade, 
My  foul  no  more  fhall  be  difmay'd  j 
But  fearlefs  meet  the  midnight  gloom, 
And  the^pale  monarch  of  the  tomb, 


Chap.   4.  Defer iptive  Pieces.  187 

Though  tempefts  drive  me  from  the  fliore, 
And  floods  defcend  and  billows  roar; 
Though  death  appear  in  ev'ry  form  \ 
My  little  bark  fhall  brave  the  ftorm. 

• 

Amid  the  various  fcene  of  ills, 

Each  ftroke  fome  kind  defign  fulfils  ; 
And  (hall  I  murmur  at  my  GOD, 
When  fov'reign  love  directs  the  rod  ? 

Peace,  rebel  thoughts — I'll  not  complain  •, 
My  Father's  fmiles  iufpend  my  pain : 
Smiles,   that  a  thoufand  joys  impart, 
And  pour  ti  that  heals  the  fmart. 

Though  Heav'n  afflict,   Til  not  repine  ; 
Each  heart-felt  comton  ftill  is  mine  ; 
Comforts  that  (liall  o'er  cfeath  prevail, 
And  journey  with  me  thro'  the  vale. 

Bleft  Saviour  !   cheer  that  darkfome  way, 
And  lead  me  to  the  realms  of  day  ; 
To  milder  fkies  and  brighter  plains, 
Where  everlafting  funfliine  reigns. 

COTTON, 

SECTION    VIII. 
Chat-after  of  Chr'ijl. 

BEHOLD,  where,   in  a  mortal  form, 

Appears  each  grace  divine; 
The  virtues,  all  in  Jefus  met, 

With  mildeft  radiance  fhine. 


188 


Introduction, 


Part  2, 


The  nobleft  love  of  human  kind 

Infpir'd  his  holy  breaft  ; 
In  deeds  of  mercy,   words  of  peace, 

His  kindnefs  was  expreft. 

To  fpread  the  rays  of  heavenly  light, 

To  give  the  mourner  joy, 
To  preach  glad  tidings  to  the  poor, 

Was  his  divine  employ. 

Lowly  in  heart,   by  all  his  friends, 

A  friend  and  fervant  found  ; 
Me  wafli'd  their  feet,   he  wip'd  their  tears> 

And  heal'd  each  bleeding  wound. 

'Midft  keen  reproach,  and  cruel  fcorn, 

Patient  and  meek  he  ftood  : 
His  foes,  ungrateful,   fought  his  life  \. 

He  laboured  for  their  good. 

In  the  laft  hour  of  deep  diilrefs, 

Before  his  Father's  throne, 
"With  foul  refign'd,   he  bow'd  and  faid, 

'  Thy  will,  'not  mine,  be  done  !'. 

Be  Chrift  my  pattern,  and  my  guide  !. 

His  image  may  I  bear! 
O  may  I  tread  his  facred  fteps  •, 

And  his  bright  glories  fhare  ! 

E  N  F  I  E  L  DV 


CHAPTER  V. 
PROMISCUOUS  PIECES. 

SECTION     I. 

Gratitude  to  the  Supreme  Being. 

irlow  cheerful  along  the  gay  mead, 
The  daify  and  cowflip  appear  ! 

The  flocks,  as  they  carelefsly  feed, 
Rejoice  in  the  • 

The  myrtius  that  £ha<.:. 

The  herbage  that  fprings  from  the  fod, 
Trees,  plants,  cooling  fruits,  and  fweet  flow'rs, 

Ail  rife  to  the  praife  of  my  GOD. 

Shall  tman,  the  great  matter  of  all, 

The  only  infenfible  prove  ? 
Forbid  it,  fair  Gratitude's  call  ! 

Forbid  it,  devotion  and  love ! 

The  LORD,  who  fuch  wonders  could  raife, 
And  ftiil  can  deftroy  with  a  nod, 

My  lips  fhall  inceflantly  praife  * 

My  heart  fliall  rejoice  in  my  GOD. 


3  9°  Introduction)  &V,  Pari  2 

SECTION     II. 
Acknowledgment  of  Divine  favours. 

WHENE'ER  1  take  my  walks  abroad, 

How  many  poor  I  fee  ! 
What  fhali  I  render  to  my  God, 

For  all  his  gifts  to  me  ! 

Not  more  than  others  I  deferve, 
Yet  God  has  giv'n  me  more  ; 
For  I  have  food,  while  others  ftarve, 

Or*  hear  fror"   r\r\nr  to  rlnor. 


ftreet, 

nan  naKcu,  i  ocaum  -. 
While  I  am  cloth'd  from  head  to  feet, 
And  cover'd  from  the  cold  ! 

While  fome  poor  creatures  fcarce  can  tell* 
Where  they  may  lay  their  head, 

I  have  a  home  wherein  to  dwell, 
And  reft  upon  my  bed. 

While  others  early  learn  to  fwear, 
And  curfe,  and  lie,  and  fteal, 

Lord  !   I  am  taught  thy  name  to  fear> 
And  do  thy  holy  will. 

Are  thefe  thy  favours,  day  by  day, 

To  me  above  the  reft  ? 
Then  let  me  love  thee  more  than  they, 

And  try  to  ferve  thee  beft. 


Prcmifitiotis  Pieces.  i 

SECTION     III. 

27v  excellence  of  the  Eibl 

GREAT  God!   with  wonder  and  nth  praife 

On  all  thy  works  I  look ; 
But  ftill  thy  wifdom,  pow'r,  and  eacc, 

Shine  brighteft  in  thy  book. 

The  ftars,  which  in  their  courfes  oil, 
Have  much  inftruction  given  ; 

But  thy  good  word  informs  my  foil 
How  1  may  get  to  heav'n. 

The  fields  provide  me  food,  and  how 

The  goodnefs  of  the  Lord  ; 
But  fruits  of  life  and  glory  grow 

In  thy  moft  holy  word. 

Here  are  my  choiceft  trcafur 
Her 


Lord  I  make  me  under  ftand  thy  law  , 
Show  what  my  faults  have  been  •, 

And  from  thy  gofpel  let  me  draw 
Pardon  for  all  my  fin. 

here  I  learn  how  JVfiis  died. 
To  fave  my  foul  from  hell  : 
all  the  books  on  earth  bc;^ 
wonders  tell. 


Introduction)  &c. 

Then  let  n  love  my  Bible  more, 
And  tati  a  frefh  delight, 

By  day  to  i  id  thefe  wonders  o'er, 
And  me  tate  by  night. 


SECTION     IV. 
On  Induflry. 

How  does  ue  little  bufy  bee 
Improve  :ach  fhining  hour  ; 

And  gathei  honey  all  the  day, 
From  ev     op'ning  flow'r  ! 


Part  2* 


How  fkilful 
How  nea 

And  labour; 
With  the 


(lie  builds  her  cell  ! 
y  fpreads  the  wax  ! 
hard  to  ftore  it  well, 
weet  food  Hie  makes. 


WATTS. 


,, •    .:;  ld« 

/or  idle  hands  to  do. 

In  books,  or  work,  or  healthful  play. 

Let  my  £rft  years  be  paft  j 
That  I  may  give  for  ev'ry  day 

Some  good  account  at  laft. 


WATTS. 


5.  Promifeuous  Pieces.  193 


SECTION  V. 

On  early  riftng. 

How  foolifli  they  who  lengthen  night, 
And  ilumber  in  the  morning  light  ! 
How  fweet  at  early  morning's  rife, 
To  view  the  glories  of  the  ikies, 
And  mark  with  curious  eye  the  fun 
Prepare  his  radiant  courfe  to  run! 
Its  faireft  form  then  nature  wears, 
And  clad  in  brighteft  green  appears. 
The  fprightly  lark,   with  artleis  lay, 
Proclaims  the  entrance  of  the  day. 
How  fweet  to  breathe  the  gale's  perfume, 
^  And  feaft  the  eye  with  nature's  bloom  ! 
Along  the  dewy  lawn  to  rove, 
And  hear  the  mufic  of  the  grove 
Nor  you,  ye  delicate  and  fair, 
Negleft  to  tafte  the  morning  air  ; 

"'ill  xrmir  nprvPs  with  vipour  brnre. 


^^.^  «  KiuCi  uiuoin  : 
With  luftre  teach  your  eyes  to  glow  ; 
And  health  and  cheerfulnefs  beftow. 

ARMSTRONG, 


794  Introduction ,  &c.  Part   2. 

SECTION     VI. 
The  drowning  Jly. 

IN  yonder  glafs  behold  a  drowning  fly  ! 

Its  little  feet  how  vainly  does  it  ply  ! 

Poor  helplefs  infect !   and  will  no  one  fave  ? 

Will  no  one  fnatch  thee  from  the  threat'ning  grave  ? 

My  finger's  top  ihall  prove  a  friendly  fhore. — 

There,   trembler,  all  thy  dangers  now  are  o'er. 

Wipe  thy  wet  wings,   and  banifh  all  thy  fear  : 

Go,  join  thy  numerous  kindred  in  the  air. 

Away  it  flies  ;  refumes  its  harmlefs  play  ; 

And  lightly  gambols  in  the  golden  ray. 

Smile  not,   fpe&ators,  at  this  humble  deed  ; 

For  you,  perhaps,   a  nobler  talk's  decreed  : 

A  young  and  finking  family  to  fave  ; 

ri^o  raife  the  thoughtlefs  from  deftruftion's  wave  ! 
you,  for  help,   the  wretched  lift  their  eyes  : 
!   hear,  for  pity's  fake,  their  plaintive  cries  ; 
]^ng,  unlefs  fome  guardian  interpofe, 
°'r   3  is  may  c 


To  a  Redbreaft. 

bird,  with  bofom  red, 
Welcome  to  my  humble  fhed ! 
Daily  near  my  table  fteal, 
While  I  pick  my  fcanty  meal. 
Doubt  not,  little  though  there  be, 
But  I'll  caft  a  crumb  to  thee  : 


Promifcuous  Pisces.  J0$ 

Well  rewarded,  if  I  fpy 

Pleafure  in  thy  glancing  eye ; 

See  thee,  when  thou'ft  eat  thy  fill, 

Plume  thy  breaft,  and  wipe  thy  bill. 

Come,   my  feather'd  friend,  again ! 

Well  thou  know'ft  the  broken  pane. 

Alk  of  me  thy  daily  ftore ; 

Ever  welcome  to  my  door  !  LANGHORNE, 

SECTION    VIII. 

fo  a  child  Jive  years  old. 

FAIREST  flower,  all  flowers  excelling, 

Which  in  Milton's  page  we  fee  : 
Flowers  of  Eve's  imbower'd  dwelling, 

Are,   my  fair  one,  types  of  thee. 

Mark,  my  Polly,  how  the  rofes 

Emulate  thy  damafk  cheek  ; 
How  the  bud  its  fweets  difclofes 

Buds  thy  op'ning  bloom  befpeak. 

Lilies  are  by  plain  direction 

Emblems  of  a  double  kind  ; 
Emblems  of  thy  fair  complexion, 

Emblems  of  thy  fairer  mind. 

But,  dear  girl,   both  flow'rs  and  beauty 

Bloflbm,  fade,  and  die  away  : 
Then  purfue  good  fenfe  and  duty, 

Evergreens,   which  ne'er  decay  ! 

COTTO  N. 


196  Introduction,  &c.-  Part  2. 

s  j;  c  T I  o  N    ix. 
The  Rofe. 

How  fair  is  the  rofe  !   what  a  beautiful  flotv'r  ! 

In  fummer  fo  fragrant  and  gay  ! 
But  the  leaves  are  beginning  to  fade  in  an  hour, 

And  they  wither  and  die  in  a  day. 

Yet  the  rofe  has  one  powerful  virtue  to  boaft, 
Above  all  the  ilow'rs  of  the  field  : 

When  its  leaves  are  all  dead,  and  fine  colours  loflr, 
Still  how  fweet  a  perfume  it  will  yield  ! 

So  frail  is  the  youth  and  the  beauty  of  men, 

Tho'  they  bloom  and  look  gay  like  the  rofe. 

Far  all  our  fond  care  to  preferve  them  is  vain  j 
Time  kills  them  as  faft  as  he  goes. 

Then  I'll  not  be  proud  of  my  youth  or  my  beauty, 
Since  both  of  them  wither  and  fade ; 

But  gain  a  good  name  by  performing  my  duty  : 
This  will  fcent  like  a  rofe,  when  Pm  dead. 

WATTS, 

SECTION     X. 

The  Ant. 

THESE  emmets,  how  little  they  are  in  our  eyes  ! 
We  tread  them  to  duft,  and  a  troop  of  them  dies. 
Without  our  regard  or  concern : 


Chap.   5.  Promifiuous  Pieces.  197 

Yet  as  wife  as  we  are,  if  we  went  to  their  fchool, 
There's  many  a  fluggard,  and  many  a  fool, 
Some  leflbns  of  wifdom  might  learn. 

They  don't   wear    their   time  out  in  fleeping   or 

play, 
But  gather  up  corn  in  a  fun-fhiny  day, 

And  for  winter  they  lay  up  their  (lores 
They  manage  their  work  in  fuch  regular  forms, 
One  would  think  they  forefaw  all  the  frofts  and  the 
ftorms  ; 

And  fo  brought  their  food  within  doors. 

But  I  have  lefs  fenfe  than  a  poor  creeping  ant, 
If  I  take  not  due  care  for  the  things  I  fliall  want, 

Nor  provide  againll  dangers  in  time. 
When  death  or  old  age  (hall  ftare  in  my  face, 
What  a  wretch  (hall  I  be  in  the  end  of  my  days, 

If  I  trifle  away  all  their  prime! 

Now,  now,  while  my  ftrength  and  my  youth  are 

in  bloom, 
Let  me  think-  what  will  ferve  me  when  flcknefs 

(hall  come, 

And  pray  that  my  fins  be  forgiv'n  : 
Let  me  read  in  good  books,  and  believe  and  obey  ; 
That,   when  death  turns  me  out  of  this  cottage  of 

clay, 
I  may  dwell  in  a  palace  in  Heav'o,     WATTS. 

SECTION     XI. 
"  A  morning  hymn* 

God  who  makes  the  fun  to  know 
His  proper  hour  to  rife, 


S  Introdaftmiy  &c.  Part 

And  to  give  light  to  all  below, 
Does  fend  him  round  the  Ikies. 

When  from  the  chambers  of  the  eaft 

His  morning  race  begins, 
He  never  tires,  nor  flops  to  reft ; 

But  round  the  world  he  fhines. 

So,  like  the  fun,  would  I  fulfil 

The  bus'nefs  of  the  day : 
Begin  my  work  betimes,  and  ftill 

March  on  my  heav'nly  way. 

Give  me,   O  Lord,  thy  early  grace  ; 

Nor  let  my  foul  complain, 
That  the  young  morning  of  my  days 

Has  all  been  fpent  in  vain.  WATI 

SECTION    XII. 

An  evening  hymn* 

AND  now  another  day  is  gone,  ^ 

I'll  fing  my  Maker's  praife : 
My  comforts  ev'ry  hour  make  known 

His  providence  and  grace. 

But  how  my  childhood  runs  to  wafte 

My  fins,  how  great  their  fum  ! 
Lord  !   give  me  pardon  for  the  paft, 

And  ftrength  for  days  to  come. 

I  lay  my  body  down  to  fleep  j 
Let  angels  guard  my 


Chap.  5.  PromifcuQus  Pieces.  199 

And  through  the  hours  of  darknefs  keep 
Their  watch  around  my  bed. 

With  cheerful  heart  I  clofe  my  eyes, 

Since  God  will  not  remove  ; 
And  in  the  morning  let  me  rife, 

Rejoicing  in  his  love.  WATTS. 

SECTION    XIII. 
The  'winter  s  day. 

WHEN  raging  ftorms  deform  the  air, 

And  clouds  of  fnow  defcend  ; 
And  theovide  landfcape,    bright  and  fair. 

No  tfeepen'd  colours  blend  ; 

When  biting  froft  rides  on  the  wind, 

Bleak  from  the  north  and  eaft, 
And  wealth  is  at  its  eafe  reclin'd, 

Prepar'd  to  laugh  and  feaft  j 

When  the  .poor  traveller  treads  the  plain, 

All  dubious  of  his  way, 
And  crawls  with  night-increafing  pain, 

And  dreads  the  parting  day  j 

When  poverty  in  vile  attire, 

Shrinks  from  the  biting  blaft, 
Or  hovers  o'er  the  pigmy  fire, 

And  fears  it  will  not  laft  ; 

When  the  fond  mother  hugs  her  child 
!  defer  to  her  breaft  j 


Introduction,  &c.  Part  2. 

And  the  poor  infant,  froft-beguil'd, 
Scarce  feels  that  it  is  preft-, — 

Then  let  your  bounteous  hand  extend 

Its  bleilings  to  the  poor  ; 
Nor  fpurn  the  wretched,  while  they  bend, 

All  fuppliant,   at  your  door. 

SECTION    XIV. 

Compajfion  and  forgiventfs. 

I  HEAR  the  voice  of  wo;  ^ 

A  brother  mortal  mourns  :  >^K 

My  eyes  with  tears,  for  tears  o'erfiow  ; 
My  heart  his  fighs  returns. 

I  hear  the  thirfty  cry ; 

The  famifh'd  beg  for  bread : 
C  let  my  fpring  its  ftreams  fupply  % 

My  hand  its  bounty  fhed. — 

And  fhall  not  Wrath  relent, 

Touch'd  by  that  humble  ftrain, 
My  brother  crying,   "  I  repent, 

Nor  will  offend  again  ?" 

How  elfe,  on  fprightly  wing, 

Can  hope  bear  high  my  pray'r, 
Up  to  thy  throne,   my  God,   my  King, 

To  plead  for  pardon  there  ?  SCOTT. 


Chap.  5.  Premifcuous  Pieces.  201 

SECTION     XV. 
The  ignorance  of  man. 

BEHOLD  yon  new-born  infant  griev'd 
With  hunger,   thirft,   and  pain  ; 

That  afks  to  have  the  wants  reliev'd 
It  knows  not  to  complain. 

Aloud  the  fpeechlefs  fuppliant  cries, 

And  utters,  as  it  can, 
The  woes  that  in  its  bofom  rife, 

And  fpeak  its  nature — man. 

That  infant,*  whofe  advancing  hour 

Life's  various  forrows  try, 
(Sad  proof  of  fin's  tranfmiflive  pow'r  !) 
That  infant,  Lord,  am  I. 

A  childhood  yet  my  thoughts  confefs, 

Though  long  in  years  mature; 
Unknowing  whence  I  feel  diftrefs, 

And  where,  or  what,  its  cure. 

Author  of  good!   to  thee  I  turn: 

Thy  ever-wakeful  eye 
Alone  can  all  my  wants  difcern  ; 

Thy  hand  alone  fupply. 

O  let  thy  fear  within  me  dwell ; 

Thy  love  my  footfteps  guide : 
That  love  fhall  vainer  loves  expel  ; 

That  fear  all  fears  befide. 


202  Introduction)    &c.  Part  2. 

And  oh!    by  error's  force  fubdued, 

Since  oft  my  ftubborn  will; 
Prepoft'rous  fhuns  the  latent  good, 
And  grafps  the  fpecious  ill  ; 

Not  to  my  wifh,  but  to  my  want, 

Do  thou  thy  gifts  apply  : 
Unafk'd,   what  good  thou  knoweft  grant ; 

What  ill,  tho'  afk'd,  deny.  MERRICK, 

SECTION  XVI. 

The  happy  choice. 

BESET  with  fnares  on  ev'ry  hand, 
In  life's  uncertain  path  I  ftand  : 
Father  Divine !   diffufe  thy  light, 
To  guide  my  doubtful  footfteps  right. 

Engage  this  frail,  and  wav'ring  heart, 
Wifely  to  choofe  the  better  part  ; 
To  fcorn  the  trifles  of  a  day, 
For  joys  that  never  fade  away. 

Then  let  the  wildeft  ftorms  arife ; 
Let  tempefts  mingle  earth  and  fkies  : 
No  fatal  fhip wreck  {hall  I  fear; 
But  all  my  treafures  with  me  bear. 

If  thou,  my  Father  !   ftill  art  nigh, 
Cheerful  I  live,  and  peaceful  die : 
Secure,  when  mortal  comforts  flee, 
To  find  ten  thoufand  worlds  in  thee. 

DODDR1DGE. 


Chap.   5.  Promifcuous  Pieces.  203 

SECTION     XVII. 
The  fall  of  the  leaf. 

SEE  the  leaves  around  us  falling, 
Dry  and  withered  to  the  ground  ; 

Thus  to  thoughtlefs  mortals  calling, 
In  a  fad  and  folemn  found  : 

"  Sons  of  Adam,   (once  in»Eden, 
When,  like  us,  he  blighted  fell,) 

Hear  the  lecture  we  are  reading  ; 
Tis,  alas  !   the  truth  we  tell. 

Virgins,   much,   too  much  prefuming 

On  your  boafted  white  and  red; 
View  us  late  in  beauty  blooming, 

Numbered  now  ampng  the  dead. 

Youths,  though  yet  no  lofTes  grieve  yon, 
Gay  in  health,   and  many  a  grace ; 

Let  not  cloudlefs  fkies  deceive  you ; 
Summer  gives  to  autumn  place. 

Yearly  in  our  courfe  returning, 

MefTengers  of  (horteft  ftay ; 
Thus  we  preach  this  truth  concerning 

Heav'n  and  earth  fhall  pafs  away. 

On  the  tree  of  life  eternal, 

Man,   let  all  thy  hopes  be  flaid  ; 

Which  alone,  for  ever  vernal, 
Bears  a  leaf  that  fhall  not  fade/* 

DR.     HORNE. 


2O4  Introduction ,  &c.  Part  2« 

SECTION     XVIII. 
Tnift  in  the  goodnefs  of  God. 

WHY,   O  my  foul,   why  thus  depreft, 

And  whence  this  anxious  fear  ? 
Let  former  favours  fix  thy  truft, 

And  check  the  rifing  tear. 

When  darknefs  and  when  forrows  rofe, 

And  prefs'd  on  every  fide, 
Did  not  the  Lord  fuftain  thy  fteps, 

And  was  not  God  thy  guide  ? 

Affliction  is  a  ftormy  deep, 

Where  wave  refounds  to  wave  : 
Tho*  o'er  my  head  the  billows  roll, 

I  know  the  Lord  can  fave. 

Perhaps  before  the  morning  dawns, 

He'll  reinftate  my  peace  5 
For  he  who  bade  the  tempeft  roar, 

Can  bid  the  tempeft  ceafe. 

In  the  dark  watches  of  the  night, 

Pll  count  his  mercies  o'er  : 
I'll  praife  him  for  ten  thoufand  paft, 

And  humbly  fue  for  more. 

Then,  O  my  foul,  why  thus  depreft. 

And  whence  this  anxious  fear  ? 
Let  former  favours  fix  thy  truft, 

And  check  the  rifing  tear. 


Chap.    5.  PromifcuQus  Piece's.  205 

Here  will  I  reft,   and  build  my  hopes, 

Nor  murmur  at  his  rod  ; 
He's  more  than  all  the  world  to  me, 

My  health,  my  life,  my  God.          COT'TON. 

SECTION    xix. 
The  Chrijlian  race. 

AWAKE,   my  foul,   ftretch  ev'ry  nerve, 

And  prefs  with  vigour  on: 
A  heav'nly  race  demands  thy  zeal, 

And  an  immortal  crown. 

A  cloud  of  witnefTes  around, 

Hold  thee  in  full  furvey  : 
Forget  the  fteps  already  trod, 

And  onward  urge  thy  way. 

^Tis  GOD'S  all-animating  voice, 

That  calls  thee  from  on  high  ; 
'Tis  his  own  hand  prefents  the  prize 

To  thine  afpiring  eye  : 

That  prize  with  peerlefs  glories  bright, 

Which  ihall  new  luftre  boaft, 
When  victors'   wreaths,   and  monarchs'  gems, 

Shall  blend  in  common  duft. 

My  foul,   with  fncred  ardour  fir'd, 

The  glorious  prize  purfue  ; 
And  meet  with  joy  the  high  command, 

To  bid  this  earth  ad; 

DODDRIDGE. 


206  Introduction)    &c.  Part  2 

SECTION     XX. 
:The  dying  Chriftian  to  his  fouL 

VITAL  fpark  of  heav'nly  flame! 
Qujt,   oh  quit  this  mortal  frame  : 
Trembling,  hoping,   lingering,  flying, 
Oh  the  pain,   the  blifs  of  dying  ! 

Ceafe,   fond  nature,   ceafe  thy  ftrife, 

And  let  me  languifh  into  life. 

Hark !   they  whifper  j   angels  fay, 

"  Sifter  fpirit,   come  away." — 

What  is  this  abforbs  me  quite  ; 

Steals  my  fenfes,   fhuts  my  fight, 
Drowns  my  fpirits,  draws  my  breath  r 
Tell  me,   my  foul,  can  this  be  death  ? 

The  world  recedes  ;  it  difappears  ! 
Heav'n  opens  on  my  eyes  !   mj^ears 

With  founds  feraphic  ring  : — 
Lend,  lend  your  wings !   I  mount !   I  fly  ! 
O  Grave !   where  is  thy  vidlory  ? 

O  Death!   where  is  thy  fling?  POPE 

SECTION     XXI. 

Epitaph  on  a  poor  and  virtuous  man. 

STOP,  reader,  here,  and  deign  to  look     * 

On  one  without  a  name; 
Ne'er  enter  d  in  the  ample  book 

Of  fortune,  or  of  fame. 


Chap.   5.  Promifcuous  Pieces.  20* 

Studious  of  peace,  he  hated  ftrife  j 

Meek  virtues  fill'd  his  bread  : 
His  coat  of  arms,   "  a  fpotlefs  life  \" 

"An  honeft  heart,"  his  creft. 

Quartered  therewith  was  innocence  ; 

And  thus  his  motto  ran  : 
"  A  confcience  void  of  all  offence 

Before  both  God  and  man." 

In  the  great  day  of  wrath,   tho'  pride 

Now  fcorns  his  pedigree, 
Thoufands  (hall  wifh  they'd  been  allied 

To  this  great  family. 

SECTION     XXII. 

Love  to  enemies. 

WHEM  Chrift,  among  the  fonS  of  mcu, 

In  humble  form  was  found, 
With  cruel  flanders,  falfe  and  vain, 

He  was  encompafs'd  round. 

The  woes  of  men,  his  pity  mov'd  ; 
Their  peace,   he  ftill  purfu'd  ; 

v  rendered  hatred  for  his  love, 
And  ev:i  for  his.  good. 

Their  malice  rag'd  without  a  caufe, 

Yet,   with  his  dying  breath, 
He  pray'd  for  murdVers  on  his  crofs, 

And  blefs'd  his  foes  in  death. 


8  Introduftiofiy  JsV.  Part  2. 

From  the  rich  fountain  of  his  love, 

What  flreams  of  mercy  flow  ! 
61  Father,   forgive  them/'  Jefus  cries, 

tc  They  know  not  what  they  do." 

Let  not  this  bright  example  fhine 

In  vain  before  our  eyes! 
P»ive  us,   great  God,   a  foui  like  his, 

To  love  our  enemies-.  WAT x^* 

SECTION     XXIII. 
fflje  dangers  and  fnares  of  life. 

AWAKE,   my  foul  !   lift  up  thine  eyes; 
See  where  thy  foes  againft  thee  rife, 
In  long  array,   a  num'rous  hofl ! 
Awake,   my  foul,  or  thou  art  loft. 

Here  giant  danger  threatening  ftands, 
Muft'ring  his  pale  terrific  bands; 
There  pleafure's  filken  banners  fpread, 
And  willing  fouls  are  captive  led. 

See  where  rebellious  paffions  rage, 
And  fierce  defires  and  lufts  engage  ; 
The  meaneft  foe  of  all  the  train 
Has  thoufands  and  ten  thoufands  flain 

Thou  tread'ft  upon  enchanted  ground; 
Perils  and  fnares  befet  thee  round : 
Beware  of  all,   guard  ev'ry  part, 
But  mod  the  traitor  in  thy  heart. 


Chap.    5.  Promifcuous  Pieces.  209 

Come  then,   my  foul,  now  learn  to  wield 
The  weight  of  thine  immortal  fhield  : 
Put  on  thy  armour  from  above 
Of  heav'nly  truth  and  heav'nly  love. 

The  terror  and  the  charm  repel, 
And  povv'rs  of  earth,  and  pow'rs  of  hell : 
The  Man  of  Calvary  triumphed  here-, 
Why  Qiould  his  faithful  followers  fear  ? 

B  ARE  AULD. 
SECTION    XXIV. 

The  Divine  Being  knows  and  fees  every  thing. 

LORD,  thou  haft  fearch'd  and  feen  me  thro'  : 
Thine  eye  beholds,  with  piercing  view. 
My  rifing  and  my  refting  hours, 
My  heart  and  flefti  with  all  their  pow'rs. 

My  thoughts,  before  they  are  my  own. 
Are  to  my  God  diftinftly  known  ; 
He  knows  the  words  I  mean  to  fpeak, 
Ere  from  my  opening  lips  they  break. 

Within  thy  circling  pow'r  I  ftand  \ 
On  ev'ry  fide  I  find  thy  hand  : 
Awake,  afleep,  at  home,  abroad, 
I  am  furrounded  ftili  with  God. 

Amazing  knowledge,  vaft  and  great! 
What  large  extent!   what  lofty  height  ! 
My  foul,   with  all  the  pow'rs  I  boaft, 
Is  in  the  boundlefs  profpect  loft. 
T  2 


2io  Introduftioni&c.  Parti* 

0  may  thefe  thoughts  poffefs  my  breaft, 
Where'er  I  rove,   where'er  I  reft  ! 

Nor  let  my  weaker  pafiions  dare 
Confent  to  fin,  for  God  is  there. — 

Could  I  fo  falfe,  fo  faithlefs  prove, 
To  quit  thy  fervice  and  thy  love, 
Where,  Lord,  could  I  thy  prefence  fhuri, 
Or  from  thy  dreadful  glory  run  ? 

If  up  to  heav'ri  I  take  my  flight, 
'Tis  there  thou  dwell'ft  inthron'd  in  light ; 
Or  dive  to  hell,  there  vengeance  reignsj 
And  Satan  groans  beneath  thy  chains. 

If,   mounted  on  a  morning  ray, 

1  fly  beyond  the  weftern  fea  ; 

Thy  fwifter  hand  would  firft  arrive, 
And  there  arreft  thy  fugitive. 

Or  fhould  I  try  to  fhun  thy  fight 
Beneath  the  fpreading  veil  of  night  ; 
One  glance  of  thine,  one  piercing  ray, 
Would  kindle  darknefs  into  day. 

Oh  !   may  thefe  thoughts  pofTefs  my  breaft, 

Where'er  I  rove,   where'er  I  reft  \ 

Nor  let  my  weaker  paflions  dare 

Confent  to  fin ,  for  God  is  there,  -WATTS. 


Chap.    ;•  Promifiuous  Pieces?  21 1 

SECTION     XXV. 
All  nature  attejls  the  great  Creator. 

AI AST  thou  beheld  the  glorious  fun, 
Through  all  the  £ky  his  circuit  run, 
At  rifing  morn,   at  clofing  day, 
And  when  he  beam'd  his  noontide  ray  i 

Say,   didft  thou  e'er  attentive  view 
The  ev'ning  cloud,   or  morning  dew? 
Or,   after  rain,   the  wat'ry  bow 
Rife  in  the  eaft,  a  beauteous  fliow ; 

When  darknefs  had  o'erfpread  the  fkies, 
Hail  thou  e'er  feen  the  moon  arife; 
And  with  a  mild  and  placid  light, 
Shed  luftre  o'er  the  face  of  night? 

Haft  thou  e'er  wander'd  o'er  the  plain, 
And  view'd  the  fields,   and  waving  grain  5 
The  flow'ry  mead,   the  leafy  grove, 
Where  all  is  melody  and  love  ? 

Haft  thou  e'er  trod  the  fandy  fhore, 
And  heard  the  reftlefs  ocean  roar, 
When,  rous'd  by  fome  tremendous  ftorra. 
Its  billows  roll  in  dreadful  form? 

thou  beheld  the  lightening  ftream, 
Thro*  night's  dark  gloom  with  fudden  gleam  5 
While  the  bellowing  thunder's  found 
Roll'd  rattling  thro*  the  heav'ns  profound  .* 


21 2  ItitroduElion^  &c.  Part  2. 

Haft  thou  e'er  felt  the  cutting  gale, 
The  fleety  fhow'r,   the  biting  hail; 
Beheld  bright  fnow  o'erfpread  the  plains  •, 
The  water,  bound  in  icy  chains  ? 

Haft  thou  the  various  beings  feen, 
That  fport  along  the  valley  green  ; 
That  fweetly  warble  on  the  fpray, 
Or  wanton  in  the  funny  ray  ; 

That  fhoot  along  the  briny  deep, 
Or  under  ground  their  dwellings  keep  j 
That  thro*  the  gloomy  foreft  range, 
Or  frightful  wilds  and  deferts  ftrange? 

Haft  thou  the  wond'rous  fcenes  furvey'd 
That  all  around  thee  are  difplay'd? 
And  haft  thou  never  rais'd  thine  eyes 
To  HIM  who  caus'd  thefe  fcenes  to  rife  ? 

'Twas  GOD  who  form'd  the  concave  iky, 
And  all  the  fhining  orbs  on  high  : 
Who  gave  the  various  beings  birth, 
That  people  all  the  fpacious  earth. 

'Tis  HE  that  bids  the  tempefts  rife, 
And  rolls  the  thunder  through  the  ikies. 
His  voice  the  elements  obey: 
Thro'  all  the  earth  extends  his  fway. 

His  goodnefs  all  his  creatures  {hare  : 
But  man  as  his  peculiar  care. — 
Then,   while  they  ail  proclaim  his  praife, 
Ltt  man  his  voice  the  loudeft  raife. 


Chap.  5.  Promifcuous  Pieces*  213 


SECTION     XXVI. 

Praife  due  to  God  for  his  wonderful  works. 

MY  God  !    all  nature  owns  thy  fway; 
Thou  giv'ft  the  night,   and  thou  the  day  ! 
When  all  thy  lov'd  creation  wakes, 
When  morning,   rich  in  luftre,   breaks, 
And  bathes  in  dew  the  op'ning  flow'r, 
To  thee  we  owe  her  fragrant  hour  \ 
And  when  fhe  pours  her  choral  fong, 
Her  melodies  to  thee  belong  ! 
Or  when,   in  paler  tints  array'd, 
The  evening  flowly  fpreads  her  fhade  5 
That  foothing  fhade,   that  grateful  gloom, 
Can,   more  than  day's  enlivening  bloom, 
Still  ev'ry  fond  and  vain  defire, 
And  calmer,   purer  thoughts  infpire ; 
From  earth  the  penfive  fpirit  free, 
And  lead  the  foften'd  heart  to  thee. 

In  ev'ry  fcene  thy  hands  have  drefs'd, 
In  ev'ry  form  by  thee  imprefs'd, 
Upon  the  mountain's  awful  head, 
Or  where  the  fhelt'ring  woods  are  fpread; 
In  ev'ry  note  that  fvrells  the  gale, 
Or  tuneful  ftream  that  cheers  the  vale, 
The  cavern's  depth,  or  echoing  grove, 
A  voice  is  heard  of  praife,   and  love. 
As  o'er  thy  work  the  feafons  roll, 
And  foothe,  with  change  of  blifs,   the  foyl, 
O  never  may  their  fmiiing  train 
<>'er  the  human  fcene  in  vain  ( 


214  IntroduElioriy   &5V.  Part  2. 

But  oft,  as  on  the  charm  we  gaze, 
Attune  the  wondering  foul  to  praife; 
And  be  the  joys  that  moft  we  prize 
The  joys  that  from  thy  favour  rife  ! 

WILLIAMS. 

SECTION     XXVII. 
The  happy  end. 

WHEN  life's  tempeftuous  ftorms  are  o'er, 
How  calm  he  meets  the  friendly  fhore, 

Who  liv'd  averfe  to  fin ! 
Such  peace  on  virtue's  path  attends, 
That,  where  the  fanner's  pleafure  ends, 

The  good  man's  joys  begin, 

See  failing  patience  fmooth  his  brow  \ 
See  the  kind  angels  waiting  now, 

To  lift  his  foul  on  high ! 
While  eager  for  the  bleft  abode, 
He  joins  with  them  to  praife  the  God, 

Who  taught  him  how  to  die. 

The  horrors  of  the  grave  and  hell, 
Thofe  forrows  which  the  wicked  feel, 

In  vain  their  gloom  difplay  ; 
For  he  who  bids  yon  comet  burn, 
Or  makes  the  night  defcend,   can  turn 

Their  darknefs  into  day. 

No  forrows  drown  his  lifted  eyes ; 
No  horror  wrefts  the  ftruggling  fighs  -, 
As  from  the  Turner's  breaft  : 


Chap.   5.  Promifcuous  Pieces. 

His  God,  the  God  of  peace  and  love, 
Pours  fweeteft  comforts  from  above, 
And  foothes  his  heart  to  reft! 


SECTION     XXVIII. 

A  kind  and  gentle    temper  of  great  importance  to  tte 
happinefs  of  life. 

SINCE  trifles  make  the  fum  of  human  things, 

And  "half  our  mis'ry  from  our  foibles  fprings  ; 

Since  life's  bed  joys  confift  in  peace  and  eafe, 

And  few  can  fave,  or  ferve,  but  all  can  pleafe  ; 

Oh  !   let  th'  ungentle  fpirit  learn  from  hence, 

A  fmall  unkindnefs  is  a  great  offence. 

Large  bounties  to  beftow,   we  wilh  in  vain  : 

But  all  may  fhun  the  guilt  of  giving  pain. 

To  blefs  mankind  with  tides  of  flowing  wealth, 

With  pow'r  to  grace  them,  or  to  crown  with  health, 

Our  little  lot  denies  ;   but  Heav'n  decrees 

To  all  the  gift  of  minift'ring  to  eafe. 

The  gentle  offices  of  patient  love, 

Beyond  all  flatt'ry,   and  all  price  above  ; 

The  mild  forbearance  of  another's  fault ; 

The  taunting  word  fupprefs'd  as  foon  as  thought  : 

On  thefe  Heav'n  bade  the  fweets  of  life  depend ; 

And  crufh'd  ill  fortune  when  it  made  a  friend. 

A  folitary  blefllng  few  can  find; 
Our  joys  with  thofe  we  love  are  intertwined  : 
And  he  whofe  wakeful  tcndernefs  removes 
Th'  obftructing  thorn  which  wounds  the  friend  he 

loves, 

Smooths  not  another's  rugged  path  alone, 
'eatters  rofes  to  adorn  his  own. 


2T6  Introduction,  &c.  Part  2 

Small    flights,  contempt,    neglect,    unmix'd   witl 

hate, 

Make  up  in  number  what  they  want  in  weight : 
Tliefe,  and  a  thoufand  griefs,  minute  as  thefe, 
Corrode  our  comforts,  and  deflroy  our  peace. 

MORE 

SECTION    XXIX. 
Simplicity. 

HAIL,  artlefs  Simplicity,  beautiful  maid, 
In  the  genuine  attractions  of  nature  array'd  : 
Let  the  rich  and  the  proud,  and  the  gay  and  the  vain. 
Still  laugh  at  the  graces  that  move  in  thy  train. 

No  charm  in  thy  modeft  allurements  they  find  ; 
The  pleafures  they  follow  a  fting  leave  behind. 
Can  criminal  paflion  enrapture  the  breaft, 
Like  virtue,   with  peace  and  ferenity  bleft  ? 

O  would  you  Simplicity's  precepts  attend, 
Like  us,   with  delight  at  her  altar  you'd  bend  ; 
The  pleafures  (he  yields  would  with  joy  be  embraced; 
You'd  practice  from  virtue,  and  love  them  fromtafte. 

The  linnet  enchants  us  the  bufiies  among  : 
Tho'  cheap  the  mufician,  yet  fweet  is  the  fong ; 
We  catch  the  foft  warbling  in  air  as  it  floats, 
And  with  ecftacy  hang  on  the  ravifhing  notes. 

Our  water  is  drawn  from  the  cleared  of  fprings, 
And  our  food,   nor  difeafe  nor  fatiety  brings  : 
Our  mornings  are  cheerful,  our  labours  are  b 


Chap.   5.  Promifcuous  Pieces.  217 

Our  ev'nings    arc    pleafant,  our   nights    crewn'd 
with  reft. 

From  our  culture  yon  garden  its  ornament  find*-; 
And  we  catch  at  the  hint  of  improving  our  minds: 
To  live  to  fome  purpofe  we  conftantly  try  ; 
And  we  mark  by  our  acYions  the  days  as  they  fly. 

Since  fuch  are  the  joys  that  Simplicity  yields, 
We  may  well  be  content  with  our  woods  and  our  fields.. 
How  ufelefs  to  us  then,  ye  great,  were  your  wealth, 
When   without   it  we   purchafe  both  plea fu re  and 
health  !  MORE. 

c  T  i  o  N    xxx. 

Care  and  Genersfity. 

OLD  Care,  with  induftry  and  art, 
At  length  fo  well  had  play'd  his  part, 
He  heap'd  up  fuch  an  ample  (lore, 
JThat  avYice  could  not  figh  for  more. 
Ten  thoufand  flocks  his  fhepherd  told, 
His  coffers  overflow'd  with  gold  ; 
The  land  all  round  him  was  his  own, 
With  corn  his  crowded  gran'ries  groan. 
In  fhort,    fo  vaft  his  charge  and  gain, 
That  to  poffrfs  them  was  a  pain  : 
With  happinefs  opprefs'd  he  lies, 
And  much  too  prudent  to  be  wife. 
Near  him  there  liv'd  a  beauteous  maid, 
With  all  the  charms  of  youth  array'd  ; 
Good,  amiable,   fincere,  and  free ; 
Her  name  was  Generofity. 
U 


2i8  Introduction >  &c.  Part  2 

9 Twas  her's  the  largefs  to  beftow 
On  rich  and  poor,  on  friend  and  foe. 
Tier  doors  to  all  were  open'd  wide  ; 
The  pilgrim  there  might  fafe  abide. 
For  th'  hungry  and  the  thirfty  crew, 
The  bread  ihe  broke,  the  drink  fh'e  drew. 
There  ficknefs  laid  her  aching  head, 
And  there  diftrefs  could  find  a  bed. 
Each  hour,  with  an  all-bounteous  hand. 
Diffused  the  bleffings  round  the  land. 
Her  gifts  and  glory  lafted  long, 
And  numerous  was  th'  accepting  throng. 
At  lenth  pale  penury  feiz'd  the  dame, 
And  fortune  fled,  and  ruin  came; 
She  found  her  riches  at  an  end, 
And  that  flie  had  not  made  one  friend. 
All  blam'd  her  for  not  giving  more, 
Nor  thought  on  what  she'd  done  before. 
She  wept,  ihe  rav'd,  fhe  tore  her  hair  : 
When  lo  !  to  comfort  her,  came  Care  ; 
And  cried,   "  My  dear,  if  you  will  join 
Your  hand  in  nuptial  bonds  with  mine, 
All  will  be  well — you  fhall  have  ftore, 
And  I  be  plagu'd  with  wealth  no  more. 
Tho*  I  reftrain  your  bounteous  heart, 
You  ftill  (hall  act  the  gen'rous  part. — 
The  bridal  came,  great  was  the  feaft. 
And  good  the  pudding  and  the  pried. 
The  bride  in  nine  moons  brought  him  forth 
A  little  maid  of  matchlefs  worth  : 
Her  face   was  mix'd  with  care  and  glee  ; 
And  fhe  was  nam'd  Economy. 
They  ftyl'd  her  fair  Difcretion's  queen, 


Promifcuous  Pieces .  219 

The  midrefs  of  the  golden  mean. 

Now  Generolky  confin'd, 

Perfectly  eafy  in  her  mind, 

Still  loves  to  give,  yet  knows  to  fpare, 

Nor  wi flies  to  be  free  from  Care.  SMART. 

c  T  i  o  x    x  xxi. 
The  BL. 

WIDE  over  the  tremulous  fea, 

The  moon  fpread  her  mantle  of  light  ; 

And  the  gale,  gently  dying  away, 
Breath' J  foft  on  the  bofom  of  night. 

On  the  forecaftle  Maratan  ftood, 

And  pour'd  forth  his  forrowful  tale ; 

His  tears  fell  unfeen  in  the  flood  ; 
His  fighs  paff'd  unheard  in  the  gale. 

"  Ah,  wretch  !"  in  wild  anguifli,  he  cried, 
"  From  country  and  liberty  torn  ! 

Ah,  Maratan,  would  thou  hadft  died, 
Ere  o'er  the  fait  waves  thou  wcrt  borne  I 

Thro'  the  groves  of  Angola  I  ftray'd, 

Love  and  hope  made  my  bofom  their  home  -, 

There  I  tallc'd  with  my  favourite  maid. 
Nor  dreamt  of  the  forrow  to  come. 

From  the  thicket  the   manhunter  fprung, 

My  cries  echoed  loud  thro'  the  air  : 
There  was  fury  and  wrath  on  his  tongue  j 
was  deaf  to  the  voice  of  defpair, — 


420  Introduftien)  Gta,  Part  2. 

Flow  ye  tears,  down  my  cheeks  ever  flow  -, 
Still  let  fleep  from  my  eyelids  depart  ; 

And  ftill  may  the  ibrrovvs  of  wo 

Drink  deep  of  the  ftream  of  my  heart. 

£ut  hark  !  o'er  the  filence  of  night 
My  Adila's  accents  I  hear  ; 

mournful,  beneath  the  wan  light, 
1  ice  her  lov'd  image  appear. 

»S!ow  o'er  the  fmooth  ocean  (he  glides, 

As  the  mift  that  hangs  light  on  the  wave  $ 

And  fondly  her  partner  Ihe  chides, 
Who  lingers  fo  long  from  his  grave. 

4  Oh,  Maratan  !  hafte  thee/  (he  cries, 
4  Here  the  reign  of  oppreflion  is  o'er  •, 

The  tyrant  is  robb'd  of  his  prize, 
And  Adila  forrows  no  more.' 

Xow  linking  amidft  the  dim  ray, 

Her  form  feems  to  fade  on  my^view: 

O  !  flay  thee,  my  Adila  ftay  !  — 
She  beckons, — and  I  muft  purfue. 

To-morrow  the  white  man,  in  vain, 
Shall  proudly  account  me  his  flave  : 

My  (hackles  I  plunge  in  the  main, 

And  rufh  to  the  realms  of  the  brave  !•"* 

*  it  may  not  be  improper  to  remind  the  young  reader,  that  the 
anguifh  of  the  unhappy  negroes,  on  being  feparated  for  ever 
irom  their  country  and  dearest  connexions,  with  the  dreadful 
profpect  of  perpetual  flavery,  frequently  becomes  fo  exauifue,  as  to 
produce  derangement  of  mind,  and  filicide* 


Chap.    5.  Protriifcitous  Pieces* 

SECTION     XXXII. 
The  Swallows. 

ERE  yellow  autumn  from  our  plains  retir'd, 
And  gave  to  wint'ry  dorms  the  varied  year, 
The  fwallow  race,   with  forefight  clear  infpir'd, 
To  fouthern  climes  prepar'd  their  courfe  to  fleer. 

On  Damon's  roof  a  grave  afTembly  f<;t  ; 
His  roof,   a  refuge  to  the  feather'd  kind  : 
With  ferious  look  he  mark'd  the  nice  debate. 
And  to  his  Delia  thus  addrefs'd  his  mind. 

"  Obferve  yon  twittering  flock,   my  gentle  maid  ; 
Obferve,   and  read  the  wond'rous  ways  of  Heav'n  ; 
With  us,   thro'  fu miner's  genial  reign  they  ftay'd, 
And  food  and  lodging  to  their  wants  were  giv'n. 

But  now,   thro'  facred  prefcience,   well  they  know 
The  near  approach  of  elemental  ftrife  ; 
The  bluft'ring  tempcft,   and  the  chilly  fnow, 
Witli.  ev'ry  want  and  fcourge  of  tender  life. 

Thus  taught,  they  meditate  a  fpeedy  flight ; 
For  this,    e'en    now    they    prune    their    vigV 

wing  ; 

For  this,   confult,   advife,   prepare,   excite ; 
And  prove  their  ftrength  in  many  an  airy  ring. 

They  feel  a  pow'r,   an  impulfe  all  divine  ! 
That  warns  them  hence  ;   they  feel  it  and  obey  : 
To  this  direction  all  their  cares  reiign, 

U  2 


Introduction ,  &?£.  Pa\t  .v, 

Unknown    their    deftinM   ftage,    unmark'd  their 
way. 

And  does  no  pow'r  its  friendly  aid  difpenfe, 
Nor  give  us  tidings  of  fome  happier  clime  ? 
Find  we  no  guide  in  gracious  Providence, 
Beyond  the  flroke  of  death,  the  verge  of  time  : 

Yes,  yes,  the  facred  oracles  we  hear, 
That  point  the  path  to  realms  of  endlefs  day  9 
That  bid  our  hearts  nor  death,  nor  anguifh  fear : 
This,   future  tranfport;  that,  to  life  the  way. 

Then  let  us  timely  for  our  flight  prepare, 
And  form  the  foul  for  her  divine  abode; 
Obey  the  call,  and  truft  the  leader's  care, 
To  bring  us  fafe,  through  virtue's  paths  to  God. 

Let  no  fond  love  for  earth  exact  a  figh  ; 
No  doubts  divert  our  fteady  fteps  afide  •> 
Nor  let  us  long  to  live,  nor  dread  to  die  : 
Heav'n  is  our  hope,  and  Providence  our  guide.''7 

JAG'O. 


THE    END. 


RECOMMENDATIONS  OF  THIS  WORK. 

"  Our  pages  bear  ample  testimony,  both  to  the  ability 
<and  the  diligence  of  Mr.  Murray.  His  different  pub- 
lications evince  much  sound  judgment  and  good  sense  ; 
and  his  selections  are  very  well  calculated  to  answer  the 
intended  purpose.  What  Mr.  Murray  observes,  in  his 
system  of  rules  for  assisting  children  to  read  with  pro- 
priety, is  worth  attention  :  the  precept  with  which  he 
concludes,  is  particularly  so ;  '  Find  out,  and  imitate  a 
good  example/  "  British  Critic,  Noveinber,  1801. 

"  This  useful  compilation  corresponds  with  its  title 
page,  both  in  matter  and  manner ;  and  must  be  found 
highly  advantageous  to  children  whose  progress  in  read- 
ing has  not  been  considerable.  The  selections  are  in 
almost  every  instance  judiciously  adapted  to  their  under- 
standing, and  conformable  to  their  taste.  The  easy 
gradation,  in  which  the  different  ages  and  capacities 
of  the  pupils  have  been  consulted,  are  well  suited  to 
their  improvement :  and  the  rules  and  observations  are 
laid  down  with  a  precision  and  simplicity,  that,  in  a 
work  of  this  nature,  cannot  be  too  much  appreciated." 
Union  Magazine,  December ',  1801. 

••  This  work  ( The  Introduction  to  the  English  Reader) 
may  be  safely  recommended,  and  put  into  the  hands  of 
youth  :  and  the  rules  and  observations  for  assisting  them 
to  read  with  propriety,  form  to  it  a  very  suitable  intro- 
duction. Mr.  Murray  endeavours  to  correct  those 
errors  which  children  are  apt  to  commit ;  and  gives 
some  directions  which,  if  observed,  cannot  fail  to  make 
good  readers.  They  are  short;  and  it  would  be  of 
service  to  young  persons,  if  they  would  imprint  them 
0n  their  memory/'  Monthly  Re-view,  August,  1801. 

Recommendation  of  the  English  Reader. 
"  This  selection  reflects  much  credit  on  the  taste  of 
Compiler;    and   the   arrangement  of  the  various 
pieces  is  judicious.     The  preliminary  rules  for  enuncia- 
tion are  useful,  and  clearly   delivered.     We  therefore 
recommend  this  small  volume  to  those  who  wish  to  at- 
•.  without  the  help  of  instructers,  the  important  ad- 
tages  of  thinking  and  speaking  with  propriety." 

MMhly  /to'/rw,  August  >  1799. 


(     224     } 

Recommendation  of  the  Sequel  to  the  English  Rtu( 

"  We  notice  this  useful  volume  of  Mr.  Murray,  for 
the  sake  of  the  additions  and  improvements  which  it  has 
received  in  this  edition.  The  selections  are  enlarged  by 
nine  different  articles  ;  of  which  it  is  enough  to  say,  that 
they  display  Mr.  Murray's  taste,  judgment,  and  ac- 
quaintance with  English  literature  ;  and  that  enlightened 
regard  to  religion  and  morality,  which  so  eminently 
qualifies  him  to  guide  the  studies  of  youth.  What, 
however,  chiefly  deserves  our  remark,  is  an  Appendix 
annexed  to  this  edition,  containing  Biographical 
Sketches  of  the  authors  mentioned  in  the  "  Introduction 
to  the  English  Reader,"  the  "  English  Reader"  itself, 
and  the  "  Sequel  to  the  Reader  ;"  with  occasional  stric- 
tures on  their  writings,  and  references  to  the  particular 
works  by  which  they  have  been  most  distinguished. 
These  Sketches  are  uncommonly  well  done.  They 
form  a  sort  of  introduction  to  Literary  History,  and 
Criticism,  which  must  prove  both  interesting  and  in- 
structive to  the  juvenile  mind." 

Literary  Journal^  February r,  1805. 

e<  We  have  already  borne  our  testimony  to  the  high 
merit  of  Mr.  Murray,  as  an  acute  grammarian,  and  as 
blending  in  his  various  works,  with  uncommon  happi- 
ness, a  delicate  and  correct  taste,  both  in  literature  and 
morals.  We  are  pleased,  though  not  surprised,  to  see 
that  the  public  has  demanded  a  new  edition  of  the  re- 
spectable work  now  before  us." 

Ann  ua  I  Review ',    1804. 

"  We  regard,  as  a  very  valuable  improvement,  the 
biographical  and  critical  Jffifiendix^  introduced  into  this 
edition  of  the  u  Sequel  to  the  English  Reader.''  It  con- 
tains short,  but  instructive  accounts,  of  all  the  authors 
from  whose  works  both  these  selections  have  been 
formed,  those  exc.oted  who  are  yet  living.  This  com- 
pilation (the  Sequel)  appears  more  free  from  objectiona- 
ble passages,  and  better  adapted  to  the  improvement  of 
youth,  than  any  other  of  the  kind  which  we  have  seen." 
Eclectic  Rrvicw*  June,  1805, 


(      225      ). 

Recommendation  of  the  Grammar ',  Exercises  and  Keij* 

"  Mr.  Murray  has  presented  to  the  public  a  new  edi- 

i   of  his   grammar,  in   which  he  shows  a   laudable 

iinxiety  to  render  his  book  more  and  more  worthy  of  the 

high  reputation  by  which  it  is  honourably  distinguished." 

"  Mr.  Murray's  Grammar,  Exercises,  and  Key  to  the 

Exercises,  form  altogether,  by  far,  the  most  complete 

and  judicious  analysis  of  the  English  language,  that  has 

hitherto  been  published.     The  rules  for  composition  are 

excellent ;  the    examples  are    selected   with  taste   and 

judgment ;  and  the  execution  of  the  whole  displays  aa 

unusual  degree  of  critical  acuteness  and  sagacity.*' 

Annual  Review  y   1802. 

Mr.  Murray's  English  Grammar,  English  Exercises, 
and  Abridgment  of  the  Grammar,  claim  our  attention, 
on  account  of  their  being  composed  on  the  principle  we 
so  frequently  recommended,  of  combining  religious 
and  moral  improvement  with  the  elements  of  scientific 
knowledge.  But  as  it  is  not  a  part  of  our  plan,  to  enter 
into  a  particular  examination  of  works  of  this  nature,  we 
shall  only  say,  that  they  have  long  been  in  high  esti- 
mation. 

The  late  learned  Dr.  Hlair  gave  his  opinion  of  them  in 

the  following  terms: — 4  Mr.  Lindley   Murray's  Gram- 

'  mar,  with  the  Exercises   and  the   Key  in  a   separate 

volume,  I  esteem  as  a  most  excellent  performance.     \ 

•  think  it  superior  to  any  work  of  that  nature  we  have  yet 
1  had;   and  am  persuaded  that  it  is,  by  much,   the  best 

•  Grammar  of  the    English    language     extant.      On 

.  ntax,  in  particular,  he  has  shown  a  wonderful  degree 

s  and   precision,  in   ascertaining  the  pro- 

4  priety  of  language,  and  in  rectifying  the  numberless 

4  errors  which  writers  are  apt  to  commit.     Most  useful 

4  these  books  must  certainly  be  to  all  who  are  applying 

•  themselves  to  the  arts  of  composition.' 

Guardian  of  Education^  July^  1803. 

"  This  Grammar  is  a  publication  of  much  merit,  and 
fully  answers  the  professions  in  the  title.  The  ^fjfiendix 
contains  some  of  the  best  rules  for  writing  elegantly, 
and  with  propriety,  that  we  ic'collect  to  have  seen." 


"  We  have  been  much  pleased  with  the  perusal  of 
Mr.  Murray's  English  Exercises."  They  occupy,  with 
distinguished  excellence,  a  most  important  place  in  the 
science  of  the  English  language ;  and,  as  such,  we  can 
warmly  recommend  them  to  the  teachers  of  schools,  as 
well  as  to  all  those  who  arc  desirous  of  attaining  correct- 
ness and  precision  in  their  native  tongue.'' 

Monthly  Revtetv,   1796,   1797. 

"  This  book  (English  Exercises)  has  been  accidentally 
mislaid  :  but  we  willingly  repeat  the  praise  we  formerly 
gave  the  author  for  his  English  Grammar.  There  is 
great  judgment  shown  in  these  Exercises  ;  and,  what  is 
no  common  merit,  the  greatest  perspicuity  in  the  adap- 
tation of  the  examples  to  the  several  rules." 

British  Critic^  Jvove?nber,    1798. 

"  These  Exercises  are  in  general  well  calculated  to 
promote  the  purpose  of  information,  not  only  with 
regard  to  orthography  and  punctuation,  but  also  in  point 
of  phraseology,  syntax,  and  precise  perspicuity  of  com- 
position." 

Critical  Review,  October,  1797. 

<c  The  materials  of  this  grammar  have  been  carefully 
and  judiciously  selected ;  its  arrangement  is  distinct, 
and  well  adapted  to  the  purpose  of  instruction  ;  and  its 
expression  is  simple,  perspicuous,  and  accurate.  The 
dpfiendix.  contains  a  great  variety  of  useful  instructions 
on  purity,  propriety,  precision,  perspicuity,  strength, 
and  elegance  of  language." 

"  The  examples  contained  in  Mr.  Murray's  'English 
Exercises,"  are  selected  with  great  judgment ;  and  are 
very  happily  adapted  to  the  purpose  of  correcting  co?n~ 
mo?i  errors  in  writing  and  speaking." 

dnalijiical  Review,    1796,    1797. 

"  The  principle  upon  Which  ail  the  publications  of 
Mr.  Murray,  for  the  instruction  of  the  rising  genera- 
tion, are  founded,  is  such  as  gives  him  an  unquestiona- 
ble claim  to  public  protection.  The  man  who  blends 
religion  and  morals  with  the  elements  of  scientific  know- 
ledge, renders  an  eminent  service  to  society  :  and  where 
ability  of  execution  is  added  to  excellence  of  design,  as 
in  the  present  case,  the  claim  becomes  irresistible." 

Jfatt-jcKQ&in  l\ci'icw,  January^  1 804. 


(     227     ) 

[r.  Murray's  Grammar,  as  well  as  his  other  pub 
lications,  has  received  the  uniform  approbation  of  literary 
characters  and  journalists.  We  do  not  hesitate  warmly 
to  recommend  them  to  the  instructers  of  youth  in  every 
part  of  the  United  States,  as  eminently  conducive  to 
pure  morality  and  religion,  and  to  the  acquisition  of  a 
correct  and  elegant  style.  They  deserve  to  take  place 
of  all  other  works  of  the  same  kind  which  are  now  used 
in  our  schools." 

The  America:.  ~.d  literary  Journal*  for 

fitember,  I  SOI. 

.    Lindk  - 's    grammar  of  the  English 

^•rown  into  high  repute.     The  demand  lor 
(. -quern,  that  a!  ('ition  is  published. 

This  contains  mar  ,nd  additions,  by  which 

it  is  greatly  improved,  as  well  a  hat  enlarged. 

In  Great  Britain,  the  sale  and  ciu -illation  are  uncom- 
monly rapid  and  extensive.  And  as  a  proof  of  the 
good  opinion  entertained  of  it  in  America,  the  profes- 
!  of  the  colleges  at  New-York,  at  Princeton,  and  at 
Nev  .led  it  as  an  elementary  book  of 

'•n,  in  their  re-  eminaries.     A  work  so 

i  calculated  to  be  useful  and  popular;  so  judiciously 
inged  ;  and  executed  with  so  much  taste  and  critical 
skill,  well  deserves   to  be  put  into   the  hands  of  every 
person  who  studies  the  language  which  it  is  intended  to 
eluci 

literary  Rt/i^.itory,  for  JWay,  June,  and 
July,  [804,  Jtub fished  at  «\cw-York. 

"  Our  sentiments,  with  regard  to  the  omission  or  in- 
sertion of  the  relative   pronoun,  arc  exactly  stated  by 
Murray,  the  ingenious  author  of  the  best 
lish  Grammar,  beyond  all  comparison,  that  has  yet 
red." 

Imperial  Review,  September,  1805. 

"  We  have  to  close  our  avowal  of  the  pleasure,  with 

c\  this  excellent  work,  (the  Grammar,) 

bv    expressing   our  entire   approbation  of  the  author's 

tmdijc  ;  which  will  enable  the  student  to  make  a  pro- 

use,  in  composition,  of  the  instructions  ditp'. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

EDUCATION-PSYCHOLOGY 
LIBRARY 

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•f 

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AI1P     ^  PFPTI  -IF 

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